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Another week, another batch of books for your TBR pile. Happy reading, folks. * C. B. Everett, The Other People (Atria) A labyrinthine fever dream with hidden depths and an irresistible sense of fun. –Chris Brookmyre Katy Hays, Saltwater (Ballantine) “A ride as exhilarating as the ferries that transport the elites from villa to yacht . . . Sleuthing minds will cavort with acrobatic prowess, reeling from one unexpected twist to another. . . . Hitchcockian in its film-noirish malevolence, Hay’s second novel also deviously channels Patricia Highsmith’s cunningly and sympathetically flawed characters to deliver an absorbing read.” –Booklist Ron Currie, The Savage, Noble Death of Babs Dionne (GP Putnam’s Sons) “Darkly funny, shocking, and unblinking, The Savage, Noble Death of Babs Dionne is a tour de force.” –C.J. Box Allison Gunn, Nowhere (Atria) “Gunn knows how to generate tension, and this trip into the woods should enchant fans of Stephen King’s The Outsider as well as readers of supernatural thrillers.” –Library Journal Chris Offutt, The Reluctant Sheriff (Grove) “Simply wonderful. Offutt, a native of Kentucky, writes about the area’s people and places lovingly, compassionately, and, when the moment calls for it, humorously . . . The novel is a lovely balance of character and story, and it is, frankly, impossible to imagine anyone not falling a little bit in love with the people of Rocksalt.” –David Pitt, Booklist Krysten Ritter, Retreat (Harper) “Smart, sexy and wickedly fun: this is everything you want in a sun-drenched thriller. Ritter can really write – you’ll race through Retreat in a day, rooting for its sparky anti-heroine (just try not to drop it in the pool at the jaw-dropping twist).” –Ellery Lloyd Harlan Coben, Nobody’s Fool (Grand Central) “In this stunningly twisty thriller from #1 New York Times bestselling author Harlan Coben, a secret from former Detective Sami Kierce’s college days comes back to haunt him. His memory is clear, but all these years later, the facts don’t add up…which is something he cannot ignore.” –Grand Central Hannah Morrissey, The Unlucky Ones (Minotaur) “Dark, gritty and addictive . . . this is Hannah Morrissey at her best.” –Mary Kubica Ashley Winstead, This Book Will Bury Me (Sourcebooks) “Readers will be hooked from the first chapter.” –Booklist Hallie Rubenhold, Story of a Murder (Dutton) “Thoroughly footnoted with a robust bibliography, Story of a Murder is another model of what literary “true” crime ought to be: a refreshing read appealing even to those who don’t care for “true” crime and a guide for any writer contemplating a project in vintage murder.” –LA Daily Mirror View the full article

Ever since The Dream podcast premiered close to ten years ago, I’ve had a special interest in multi-level marketing businesses. You might’ve heard them called direct sales, or even, on occasion, pyramid schemes. I’m sure all of us, at some point or another, have had a friend become a salesperson overnight. They’re hosting parties, they’re posting online, they have a product they think will be great for you – and guess what, you could sell it too! For my third Pinnacle Hotel mystery, I knew I wanted MLMs to play a starring role. Fortunately for me, multi-level marketing has been around for over a hundred years now, and in the 50s at home demonstration parties were booming. Tupperware parties were all the rage, thanks to Brownie Wise. She was not the owner of Tupperware, that was a man called Earl Tupper. (He was very creative with his naming choices.) But Wise realized that women weren’t buying Tupperware because they didn’t totally understand it, and she threw the first at home demonstration. Well, that was all it took. Housewives began buying and selling Tupperware for their own use, and for their own parties. Rumor has it, Wise was fired by Tupper because he was jealous of her success. And she was successful. She was the first woman ever on the cover of Business Week. Plus, we know she had style, because she drove a pink Cadillac. Her at home demonstrations laid the groundwork for the MLMs we see today. For The Socialite’s Guide to Sleuthing and Secrets, I made up my own business called Ladies Love to Sparkle and the women in the business sell, you guessed it, “affordable, costume jewelry”. When a team is having a meeting at the Pinnacle Hotel, the leader collapses in my sleuth’s lap, and it’s up to her to figure out what happened and why. I believe MLMs are an excellent opportunity for mystery writers, namely because you could burn a lot of money and a lot of friendships by being in one. Of course, some people do succeed. They wouldn’t be so popular if that wasn’t the case. But for the people who don’t, the 99% who never turn a profit? Well, that’s where the motive is. I’ve been searching, and I found a few books, both fiction and nonfiction, that center around multi-level marketing businesses. But I think there’s plenty of room for more, especially from mystery authors! DEATH IN THE DOWNLINE by Maria Abrams Just released earlier this year (2025), Death in the Downline: A Multi-Level Marketing Murder Mystery is about a woman named Drew who, back in her hometown, joins a business called LuminUS after being recruited by an old friend. That same friend gets into trouble when a LuminUs distributor is murdered and it’s up to Drew to save her by solving the crime. PYRAMDIA by Stephanie Sanders-Jacob This is a horror novel, and that’s okay! We are multi-faceted readers when it comes to multi-level marketing. Harriet, while enduring some struggles in her life, meets a woman who convinces her to join her MLM business. They sell tea. They drink tea. Harriet can’t stop drinking the tea. I am so ready to read about the tea! LUCY UNDYING by Kiersten White If I had a nickel for every MLM centered book I found that involved vampires, I’d have two nickels, which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice. Lucy Undying: A Dracula Novel starts with Dracula, and ends with multi-level marketing, which I think is a testament to White’s skill as an author. Lucy, the main character, is one of Dracula’s first victims, and then spends her undead life trying to free from his clutches. Version 1.0.0 THE FEMALE PERSUASION: A NOVEL by Meg Wolitzer This is a coming-of-age story and no, it’s not directly about direct sales. But it is about female friendships, and mentoring, and power and really – that’s at the core of every multi-level marketing business. Greer is a freshman when she hears well-known feminist activist Faith speak at a seminar for the first time. She can’t believe it when Faith asks her to join her in a new venture. CULTISH by Amanda Montell Nonfiction book alert! I am a huge Amanda Montell fan and her sophomore book, all about the language used by various forms of cults, has an entire chapter on multi-level marketing. I can’t recommend this book enough! And, of course, that leaves: SELLING THE DREAM by Jane Marie Jane Marie is the host of the podcast I mentioned earlier, called The Dream, and this Publisher’s Weekly starred book expands on the topic covered in the first season of her podcast. Multi-Level Marketing companies sell the American Dream. They’re built on big promises, and the backs of women who are looking for something for themselves. They’re looking for financial freedom, or friendships, or purpose. And MLMs sell a false sense of that by taking their money and taking advantage. There’s tension there, and motive too, and that’s why I think more authors should consider using MLMs in their plots. Mystery authors, of course – MLMs are rife with manipulation tactics and deception that fit our genre perfectly – but also horror or thriller or even a romcom. These businesses and their shady practices have been around for a hundred years, so almost all of us are aware of them. That familiarity makes them an excellent story telling tool across genres. So go ahead – take this plot device home today! Use it in your work! Share with your friends the benefits of using MLM in fiction! And if you do write that book? Well, all I ask is a small commission. Alternatively, you could just tell me about it. *** View the full article

Papua New Guinea, or simply PNG, sandwiched between Indonesia and Australia. A confection of over 800 languages and dialects. The capital, Port Moresby (Pom City) is generally regarded as a tough town, a hardship posting for diplomats and foreign correspondents, a potentially dangerous place for business executives. If you’re totally unfamiliar with the underbelly of Port Moresby and PNG then perhaps take a look at Stephen Dupont’s photo-journalism book Raskols: The Gangs of Papua New Guinea (2012), a series of incredible black-and-white portraits of PNG’s gangsters, brigands, thieves, and carjackers posing with their arsenal of homemade guns and knives. The book’s introduction says it all: “Papua New Guinea’s capital, Port Moresby, is regularly ranked among the world’s five worst cities to live in by The Economist magazine. In 2004, when the photographs in Raskols were taken, the same survey ranked Port Moresby the worst city in the world. This fenced-up, razor-wired, lawless metropolis is infamous for its criminal gangs known as raskols (the indigenous Tok Pisin word for criminals). Throughout Port Moresby, dense urban settlements and a general lack of law and order have led to intertribal warfare and a seemingly endless stream of kidnappings, gang rape, carjackings, and vicious murders. That’s all in addition to soaring HIV rates and massive unemployment.” In novel form Wiri Yakipoko’s The Dark Side of Port Moresby (2002) follows cousins Jules and Suglare, young men with very different lives. One a talented musician destined for study at the conservatory of music in London, and the other is a “raskol” (rascal), living in the Port Moresby underworld. Yet both are caught up in the corruption that has long enveloped PNG. Contemporary issues in PNG and Port Moresby run through Keith Dahlberg’s The Samana Incident (2010). Keith Dahlberg, an American missionary doctor, worked as a temporary supply doctor in the East Highlands Province of Papua New Guinea. Lieutenant Jason Kerro is an honest cop in a corrupt system, trying to stop a gang of gunrunners and meth dealers from taking control of tribes in the Papua New Guinea Highlands. When his captain forbids him to investigate an armed attack on the town of Samana, he suspects the captain is among those taking payoff s from the smugglers. In Keith Dahlberg’s South Sea Gold (2013) Tom Akani, reporter for the Port Moresby Journal, has his eyes opened to corruption when mining interests strongly oppose his feature stories about conditions at the Owego gold mine. Anonymous agents hire a gang to threaten his life, his family, and the newspaper. And so Police Inspector Jason Kerro returns sensing a connection between attacks on the newspaper and the disappearance of vast amounts of government money intended for PNG’s hospitals and schools. His investigation reveals a plot against the national government itself. Something a bit different is San Franciscan tuned Amsterdammer Jennifer S Alderson Rituals of the Dead. Flicking back and forth between the 1960s and 2017 and between Amsterdam and PNG, museum curator Zelda Richardson is setting up a forthcoming exhibition in 2017 in Holland of Bis Poles (carvings that have been made on Papua New Guinea for generations by the Asmat people). In a packing case from PNG she discovers a notebook that goes back to the early 1960s, back to the last days of Dutch colonial rule. It belongs to a foreign collector, then exploring Dutch New Guinea, who disappeared. Then Janna, the museum’s photographer, is murdered. Could the two cases be linked across half a century and two continents divided by nearly 9,000 miles. Rituals of the Dead (2018) is the second book in the Zelda Richardson Mystery Series. Other books in the series finds Zelda on the trail of Nazi looted art from World War Two, trying to solve an art heist in Amsterdam by Croatian gangsters, and tracking down a lost Vermeer. Let’s jump back a bit to remember a book, now mostly forgotten, that was once on everyone’s TBR list – Charlotte Jay’s (a pseudonym of Geraldine Halls) 1952 Edgar award winning Beat Not The Bones. And not just any Edgar award, but the inaugural Edgar award for best novel! Chandler’s The Long Goodbye won the second Edgar ever awarded if you want a measure for Beat Not the Bones). A woman arrives in New Guinea from Australia, determined to find out what really happened to her husband, the Chief Anthropologist in the colonial administration alleged to have committed suicide. It’s long been considered an Australian crime classic largely for its descriptions of New Guinea in the immediate post war period as well as being an ’early, a-typical example of an anti-colonial novel (and even likened to Conrad’s Heart of Darkness). Halls/Jay (1919-1996) was a prolific Brisbane-based mystery writer in the post-war era. American reviewers compared her to Eric Ambler, Josephine Tey and Graham Greene. Several of her novels were adapted for TV and she won awards in the UK and US too. from 1949 to 1950 she was a court stenographer in Port Moresby, hence her really great descriptions of the country at the time. Other novels by Halls/Jay take place in Swinging 60s London, Thailand and Australia. It’s a real shame she’s not better remembered and republished these days. Bang up to date Christina Larmer was born in PNG and now writes both cozy crime and stand-alone adult novels and now lives in Australia. In her novel An Island Lost (2012) we journey from Manhattan to Papua New Guinea as a woman moves from a crowded NY café to exploring a remote island hideaway in PNG to look for her vanished father – did he elope with the maid, fall foul to a tragic accident? Or was he murdered (and if so, why?). Along the way there’s tribal chiefs, eccentric expatriates and an elusive witchdoctor. Contemporary Port Moresby appears in Philip Fitzpatrick’s Inspector Metau (2013). It’s a series Including The Case of the Missing Professor, The Case of the Good Politician, The Case of the Angry Councillor, The Case of the Great Pumpkin Heist. The books all provide a marvellous array of insights into PNG and Port Moresby life. This is helped by Fitzpatrick having been a Kiap (Patrol Officer) in Papua New Guinea between 1967 and 1973. And, in the 1990s, he worked as an independent consultant in PNG carrying out over heritage surveys across the country. And finally, Vincent Eri’s The Crocodile, first published in 1970, a novel set in Papua in the 1940s. Hoiri Sevese knows he must avenge himself on the sorcerers who have caused his wife to be eaten by a crocodile. He must also come to terms with colonial rule, with himself and with the crocodile. A very different kind of novel but enlightening on the rather opaque society and government of PNG. View the full article

These are the first few pages introducing Katherine Briçonnet, the first Chenonceau woman Chenonceau, 1512 The rounded tip of Chenonceau’s tower pierced through the morning mist, and Katherine Briçonnet caught her breath. Everything she had been working toward, all her quiet ambitions, culminated in this moment. The journey from Tours had taken nearly half a day along the River Cher, but her anticipation had been waiting much longer—weeks, perhaps months. While Thomas was away in Italy, attending the king on his tiresome effort to dominate the disjointed peninsula, Katherine had busied herself in the minutiae of estate affairs. Livestock ledgers, supplies reports, and her children had offered distraction from the greater, gnawing worry: Would the builders respect her voice? Would they follow the designs she dared share with them, unsigned, unacknowledged, but precise? Or had they dismissed them, deferring reflexively to her absent husband? Now, her mule’s hooves crunched along the gravel path, shaded by ancient chestnuts that framed her view. She sat straighter in the saddle, urging her mount ahead of her entourage. The trees parted, and the southwest tower revealed itself fully. She braced herself, one hand instinctively rising to her heart, and then a smile formed on her lips. The once-stern fortress of the Marques family rising above the riverbank had been transformed. Where arrow slits once pirced the stone, elegant windows were now framed in creamy limestone. The tower’s medieval roof had given way to a soaring conic spire that rose like a prayer. Intricate dormers graced the upper rooms, their white stone gleaming against slate shingles still dark from the morning dew. “It’s perfect,” she breathed, just above a whisper. Then, louder, with impressible joy: “It’s perfect!” Spurring her mule forward, she dismounted with uncharacteristic haste, silk skirts hiked into her hands. She took the stone steps two at a time, hardly noticing the Marques’ coat of arms above the old water well. Her attention was fixed on the doorway—her doorway. Around it, a curled garland of stone adorned with seashells, birds, vines, flowers, and, most delightfully, mermaids. Not the grotesque sailors’ sirens of popular imagination, but graceful, willowy creatures, delicate and serene. Even though she had never been to the sea, she had insisted on them. They represented the mysteries of the feminine as a source of life. Without women, there would be nothing, she thought. “Madame Briçonnet?” came a voice, rough and familiar. She turned to find a wiry man emerging from the shadows of the portico. His face was sunworn, his hair graying beneath a dusted cap, but his eyes twinkled with pride. “Monsieur Dubois!” she exclaimed, taking his hands warmly. “You’ve done it. You’ve brought my vision to life—more beautifully than I ever dared to hope.” “You have the eye of an Italian, Madame,” he said with a wink. “A true connoisseur of beauty. And a fair patron, too. You kept us well fed and better paid.” She laughed, her heart full. His loyalty had not come cheaply, and she thanked the heavens for her husband’s familial wealth, but the results spoke for themselves. Now only one obstacle remained: her husband. When Thomas returned from Italy, he would expect to see the château—his design, his command, his triumph. How would he react to find her imprint on every stone? It had all begun innocently enough, when Thomas was appointed General Finances to the King in 1490, some twenty years earlier. “My position requires a noble estate,” he stated matter-of-factly one evening over dinner in their grand, wood-paneled dining room. Their hôtel particular in Tours, though elegant, had suited Thomas the mayor—but it did not befit a nobleman. “And I believe I have found the perfect property,” he added, motioning for the steward to refill his goblet with wine. “Fortified, historic. A proper statement.” Katherine’s mind whirled at the prospect of building a château from the ground up. “A château?” she exclaimed, perhaps a little too eagerly. He raised a brow. “You sound surprised.” She tempered her tone. “It’s only that … I have often dreamed of building such a place. Something beautiful. Lasting.” He frowned, slicing his roast with a bone-edged knife. “And what would you know about architecture?” he asked. She almost reminded him of her childhood in her father’s study, snuggled in his leather-bound armchair, losing herself in ancient texts on Greek philosophy, Roman history, and, above all, architecture. She had devoured sketches of classical temples and civic buildings, marveling at the miracles of arches and vaulting, critically evaluating how they might be reimagined in modern-day construction. Even as a child, roaming her family’s estate in touring, she had stacked stones into crude arches, puzzling over how each piece ft together to create something greater than itself. Of course it was silly of her to let her mind wander even a little bit. He would not be on board with a woman, much less his wife, sharing in the design process. She was determined, however, to view the property, to imagine what form an elegant château might take, so she changed tactics, squarely meeting his gaze. She held her tongue. “Nevertheless,” she said carefully, “I should like to see the property. To support you. And … to imagine what might become of it.” She saw it immediately—the brief, involuntary flicker in his expression, the way he stiffened at her words. Had he truly never noticed how closely she followed his discussions of the king’s fascination with the new Italian architectural styles, the same ones that he despised? “You? Why?” he asked. Because I see what you do not, she thought. Because while you marvel at power, I see the possibility for grace and beauty, an opportunity to build something livable and human-scale. But she said nothing. Instead, she leaned forward, softening her voice. She had learned early with him that a sugar fig tempts more than a bitter root. “Mon cheri,” she said sweetly, “your vision, your taste, your mastery of design, these are the very qualities that will make the château a marvel. But who better than I, your devoted wife, to admire and support your genius from the very beginning?” He hesitated. The silence stretched. He paused, his lips pressing into a thin line. For a moment, she thought he might refuse again. Then, with a scowl, he exhaled sharply. “Oh, very well,” he relented. “You may come tomorrow. But you must stay in the background. Do not interfere.” Katherine allowed herself a small, victorious smile. That, she could manage—for now. ** On that first trip to Chenonceau, she had ridden behind Thomas and his advisers—this time sidesaddle, to satisfy social norms. But she didn’t mind, as she stayed close enough to capture their words. “The estate belongs to the Marques family,” Thomas explained to his posse. “They’re knights from Auvergne who spared no expense in building a fortress in the 1430s. But their descendants have not managed their money well. While they are ensconced for now, they will find their financial demise. And I plan to be there, to pick up the pieces.” His voice was full of scorn. They approached the estate from the opposite riverbank—Thomas did not want the residents to know they had company. The small group stopped amid a copse of tall, regal trees, the ones Katherine supposed had given the property its name: Chenonceau, a Celtic term for “oak forest near the water.” From a distance, she saw the crumbling fortress, square in shape with four round corner towers rising above, surrounded on three sides by a moat connecting to the adjacent River Cher. A separate mill, built directly over the river, stood on two giant pedestals ground into the riverbed for support. Jumping off his horse, Thomas strode along the riverbank, his pensive blue eyes scanning the blocky facade of the structure. “The site is strategic,” he said, measured. “We can easily renovate the existing frame.” Katherine stood near him, her long violet gown billowing in the soft currents of wind rolling off the River Cher. With a practiced hand, she pinned a hazelnut curl behind her ear, her silver clasp glinting in the sunlight. She hesitated briefly, choosing her words carefully: “As a nobleman,” she began, deliberate, “you deserve a structure that reflects your vision. What if we demolished the fortress entirely and built something new—over the river, where the mill stands?” There. She had said it. The first spark of the vision she longed to bring to life—a magnificent château that would endure for generations. Thomas turned to her, one eyebrow raised in incredulity. “No, really, cheri,” she said, keeping her words even, like the precise clucking tongue of their youngest daughter Chloe’s harpsichord tutor, Madame Sevigny. “That’s the only way to make it remarkable. A château on the river, not beside it. The mill’s foundations are perfect for such a structure. And, let’s be honest—modernizing that old fortress will only result in an awkward blend of eras. It won’t command admiration. It will look like we’ve tried to update a block of stone.” “It will work,” he said, folding his arms and slivering his eyes. “It can be done my way. But first, we need to acquire the property.” He didn’t sound confident, but Katherine let it rest for now. Little did they know then, as they stood there by the River Cher, it would take sixteen long years to turn their conflicting visions into reality.

1: Story Statement Three remarkable women, each entwined with the history of the Château de Chenonceau, navigate the constraints of their patriarchal eras to shape a legacy that defies time. Centuries later, a modern-day narrator, in search of her own voice, discovers their stories—drawing strength and inspiration to forge a lasting mark of her own. #2: Antagonistic Forces Each woman is confronted with social, political, and cultural structures that seek to silence or control them. But also: Beatrice: her mother Katherine: her husband Diane: Anne (king’s mistress), Cathérine de Médici Cathérine: Diane the mistress #3: Breakout Titles The Ladies of Chenonceau The Women Who Loved Chenonceau One Château, Three Women #4: Comparables The Serpent and the Pearl by Kate Quinn The Rivals of Versailles by Sallie Christie #5: Core Wound and Primary Conflicts A woman whose life has fallen apart returns to a château she once visited in her youth, seeking solace in the wisdom of the remarkable women who lived there—each of whom defied the constraints of patriarchy in her own way. Note: My story centers on a modern-day narrator whose journey is interwoven with the lives of three women from the past. Through their stories, she uncovers profound lessons and shared experiences. While the central thread follows the narrator’s present-day perspective, each woman’s narrative reveals a common struggle—the fight to have their voices heard in a world that silences them, not only through the people around them, but through the enduring weight of patriarchal systems, both historical and still present today. #6: Other Matters of Conflict I have sketched out the conflicts and hypothetical scenarios for each of the three women in the story, as well as the main narrator. Beatrice (modern day): Shy and hesitant to voice her opinions, Beatrice drifts through life, bending to the desires of others while neglecting her own. She struggles to assert her needs, often finding herself drawn to narcissistic men who diminish her sense of self. Deep down, she longs to be heard, to break free from this cycle, and to step into the fullest version of herself. Core Conflict: A profound lack of self-confidence and inability to find her own voice. Hypothetical scenario: Beatrice falls deeply in love with Mark during college, convinced they are building a future together—until he abruptly accepts a job in Taiwan without consulting her (trigger). He offers a lukewarm invitation for her to join him, and she follows after him, only to eventually realize he has no real intention of committing to their relationship (reaction). Kathérine (late Middle Ages): Passionate about architecture, Kathérine dreams of building a lasting legacy through her designs for her and her family. Yet, her ambitions are stifled by her husband, who not only offers her no support for her own dreams but also takes the credit for the work she has done. Core conflict: Betrayal and lack of support from her husband. Hypothetical scenario: After her husband’s death, Kathérine hears whispers at court that he had been embezzling funds to sustain their extravagant lifestyle—a stark contrast to his claims of inherited wealth when they were betrothed. The truth strikes her: he had never opposed her dream of building a magnificent château out of principle, but out of financial deceit (trigger). He allowed her to pursue it only as long as it bolstered his own image, never once considering the legacy she longed to create for herself or the foundation she hoped to build for their family. Now, with the court poised to seize the château as collateral for his debts, she must act swiftly—and legally—to reclaim what is rightfully hers (reaction). Diane de Poitiers (French Renaissance): Privileged by wealth and status yet starved for power, Diane knows she cannot claim influence on her own. To secure her place in the political arena, she becomes the young king’s mistress, skillfully manipulating court affairs from behind the scenes. With beauty and charm as her weapons, she carves out the life she desires—including possession of the château. Core conflict: Navigating and subverting the patriarchal system. Hypothetical scenario: Henri is set to be married, and Diane knows she must move quickly to secure her influence (trigger). She concedes that Cathérine de’ Médici is a suitable match—if only because, as the daughter of a mere merchant, she poses little threat. This union will allow Diane to maintain her hold on power. She must convince Henri to concur, knowing he is falling in love with her, and she him (reaction). Cathérine de Médici (French Renaissance): Trapped in a loveless marriage with Henri II, Cathérine’s unreciprocated devotion festers into a need for control, manifesting in her ruthless, vindictive nature. Unable to win his love, she wields power in other ways—using the château as both a weapon and a symbol of her influence. Core conflict: The pain of being unloved. Hypothetical scenario: The 14-year-old duchess is brought to France to marry the dauphin, and she falls madly in love when she sees him for the first time, a handsome, brooding teenager. But he has eyes for someone else (trigger). She responds by taking her wrath out on the women of his desire (reaction). #7: Setting The château de Chenonceau in the Loire Valley is more than just a backdrop—it’s a character in its own right, as five different women across centuries build it and leave their marks, shaping its history as much as it shapes theirs. The first woman lays its foundation and the next two expand and refine it. In the present, Beatrice arrives, drawn to their echoes, seeking wisdom from their stories as she arrives to find her own voice. Kathérine: the founder—the courage to begin anew; taking the first step toward change using perseverance and dedication. Diane: the visionary—ability to claim space and wield power using beauty and love. Cathérine: the survivor—transforms the chateau into a center of influence using power and force.

Here at CrimeReads, we ask the important questions. It’s how we’re trained. This weekend, I rewatched The Living Daylights and was struck (yet again) by the singularity of Timothy Dalton’s James Bond. This prompted a conversation between myself and my partner, comparing the different elements of each Bond. But then we realized… each Bond has a different flavor profile… rather like a martini variation. I’ve already done a highly biased, very personal, somewhat ridiculous deep dive into the nuances between each Bond film, but I’ve never looked at the differences between each of the individual 007s. So, true to Bond essence, I’m doing it over drinks! Disclaimer: I don’t know a thing about martinis, but luckily, the gentleman assisting me with this list with me used to be a bartender. So, we’re all in good hands. What I do know is… there are rules of the James Bond martini: shaken (not stirred). Other than that, we have free reign. So, we made a menu. Cheers! Sean Connery Variety: Classic, up with a twist Rationale: He’s the original, the gold standard. Smart, strong, smooth, sexy, but still with a little bit of a bite. And don’t forget the twist! (By the way, the twist is that Never Say Never Again gets made!) George Lazenby Variety: In and out. Rationale: Obviously! He’s one and done. On Her Majesty’s Secret Service, we barely knew ye! Roger Moore Variety: Dirty with blue cheese olives. Rationale: There is absolutely nothing serious about Moore’s Bond. Or wholesome. In the later Bond movies, like A View to a Kill, when he’s a million years old and still romancing 20-something-year-olds, he’s just a stinky old man. Timothy Dalton Variety: Bone dry. Rationale: There is almost nothing unserious about Dalton’s Bond. As License to Kill reminds us, this is a Bond who will go off the rails and fully turn a spy caper into a revenge movie. Give this man a drink with an edge. Pierce Brosnan Variety: Sweet vermouth. Rationale: I always feel bad for Pierce Brosnan when I watch his era of James Bond movies, because his vibe is so erudite and sensitive. He delivers a performance far deeper, far wearier, far gentler, even, than these movies deserve. He’s like your friend’s dad who is a Shakespeare lecturer at a nearby university who’s always in the backyard grilling, wearing a “Kiss the Cook,” apron when you come over, and then reading William Blake in his study until he drives you home. He’s just a nice man! He just wants to read! Let him sip a gentle drink and bury his head in his books! Daniel Craig Variety: Actually… he’s a vesper. Rationale: Think about it! View the full article

When I started writing The Liars Society—a twisty mystery set in the world of the New England prep school, featuring a secret society, a mysterious island, and family secrets—I set out to create a high-concept story that would excite readers of any age. My primary goal was not to underestimate kids, their talents, intelligence, and ability to keep up with a sophisticated mystery. I wanted to write an evergreen story like The Westing Game—one that would become beloved by middle-graders—but that would read just as well to adults. The Westing Game is the book that turned me, a kid who struggled with undiagnosed ADHD, into a reader. And so, mysteries have always meant something more than just a genre—they literally created my future. When I thought about the readers I wanted to reach, kids who were like me in elementary and middle school, I knew that a mystery was the way to grab them—and a series was the way to keep them reading. The Liars Society: A Risky Game will be in stores on April 1. From the beginning, I knew The Liars Society had to be an elevated, smart, and fast paced mystery. I wanted the story to be made up of layered characters of all ages who would be fun and dynamic for kids, but also deep and intriguing to adults. Here, the kids take the lead, but the cast is all-ages. I grew up in Andover, Massachusetts, in the shadow of Phillips Academy Andover, and later, I went to boarding school, where I didn’t always feel like I fit in. Having undiagnosed ADHD in an academically rigorous environment made me feel like I’d never belong. I wanted to create a distinct and relatable story that took place in this mysterious, insular world, like Knives Out for the whole family. The Liars Society is told from multiple points of view: Jack Hunt is the ultimate insider and Weatherby Walker is a fish-out-of-water-scholarship student. They get picked for a chance to join the most powerful secret society in the world. Only they both have life ruining secrets they will do anything to protect. These two distinct perspectives give readers the chance to dig into big, important questions to consider at any age: What makes someone a liar? Are we defined by our worst mistakes? Who can you trust when everyone has secrets? What can we do when the people in charge of us are lying? I’ve put together a list of thoughtful and compelling middle grade mysteries that you won’t want to miss. These stories will keep you guessing and thinking at any age. Nancy Springer, Enola Holmes I love Enola Holmes—the clever younger sister to Sherlock Holmes. With just the right amount of danger and intrigue, this series that centers around a determined, smart girl detective is the perfect mix of mystery and adventure. When you’re done reading all the books, you can stay in the world by watching the show on Netflix. It’s an incredible adaptation! Version 1.0.0 Christina Diaz Gonzalez (Author) and Gabriela Epstein (Illustrator), Invisible This is one of my all-time favorite graphic novels and mysteries. The story is a Breakfast Club scenario set in middle school, featuring five, misunderstood Spanish-speaking kids with varying levels of English and Spanish fluency who have to solve a mystery together. Not only is this a smart, engaging mystery, but Christina Diaz Gonzalez brilliantly navigates between English and Spanish as she tells a fully bilingual story. Stuart Gibbs, Spy School When Ben Ripley is recruited to the CIA’s top-secret Academy of Espionage as bait to catch a dangerous enemy agent, he starts solving crimes and saving the day. The best part is that this action-packed series about a normal kid who becomes a secret agent has 12 books, 4 graphic novels, 1 puzzle book, and counting. Ruta Sepetys and Steve Sheinkin, The Bletchley Riddle This is the historical mystery you need. The story follows two siblings at Bletchley Park, the home of WWII codebreakers, as they race to decipher clues and unravel the secrets surrounding their mother’s disappearance. Varian Johnson, The Parker Inheritance I love a mystery with puzzles, fortunes, secrets, and complicated family histories. Also, what’s better than a ticking clock?! Varian Johnson’s The Parker Inheritance offers all of that, and the story is set in Lambert, South Carolina, a place with its own web of historical secrets. Jen Calonita, Isle of Ever This new series starter is the mystery-adventure you need now. In 1825 a group of kids in Greenport, NY went missing searching for a mysterious island. They were never found. There was only one survivor—Evelyn Terry. 200 years later Evelyn’s ancestor—Benny discovers she has been left a huge inheritance, which she can only collect if she finds an island that doesn’t exist on any maps. And she has two weeks to find it. The stakes are so high, and the characters are complicated and fun. Karina Yan Glaser, The Vanderbeekers of 141st Street If you’re looking for an engaging, enchanting family with secrets to solve, The Vanderbeekers of 141st Street is the perfect mystery series to read together. Their adventures finding clues and solving puzzles in New York City will keep you intrigued for all seven installments. James Ponti, City Spies If you like adventures around the world, you’re going to be obsessed with these five young agents, who along with MI6, British Secret Intelligence, agents, form their own unique version of family. They are spies with elite skills, and they can go places and solve crimes in the world of espionage where adults can’t. *** View the full article

I’m so old that I think of the art and science of modern-era movies according to whether they came before or after “Jaws” (1975) and “Star Wars” (1977). Partly that’s because those films made so much money that they changed the way films were marketed and released, but also because they were so proficient, in terms of the “sciences” part of “motion picture arts and sciences.” They set a standard, so it was shocking that many wannabe blockbusters that followed were deficient in cinematography or special effects or other technical aspects. In other words, if you wanted to be a thrilling adventure or epic, if you didn’t measure up to Steven Spielberg’s shark hunt or George Lucas’ modern retelling of space opera tales, then your film just didn’t cut it. Of course, I’m not discounting low-budget films or artistic films that didn’t even try to compete in terms of spectacle. I’m talking about films that, a generation before, would have aspired to the scope and action and grandeur of “Ben-Hur” or “Lawrence of Arabia.” What does all this have to do with the disaster films of the 1970s? The decade was a transformative one for movies. The young auteurs and film students – with a boost from the movie factory run by producer Roger Corman – had taken over Hollywood and given us films like “The Godfather” and its sequel. The decade started with smaller, gritty, sometimes downbeat films and ended with the greatest cotton candy you’d ever want to eat with “Raiders of the Lost Ark” and, in 1980, “The Empire Strikes Back.” Straddling the 1970s is the most uneven trend in Hollywood history: the disaster film. There were plenty of films that chronicled disasters, going all the way back to “San Francisco” in 1936 and even earlier. And there have been plenty since the 1970s, usually involving Dwayne Johnson leaping over earthquakes or floodwaters. But the 1970s was the heyday of big disaster films, movies that chronicled epic disasters by using (ostensibly) big casts, big budgets and in some cases big special effects techniques that in one notable instance were just big speakers placed in the back of movie theaters. (Cue the line from “Monty Python and the Holy Grail” – “It’s only a model!”) As I was rewatching 1970s disaster movies for this piece, I kept wondering if there would be an arc to the decade of films. The only arc I found is that the films got steadily shoddier and sillier as the decade wore on. Even by the middle of the decade, some of the big-studio disaster films were not great. (Looking at you, “Earthquake,’ and your giant speakers.) A review of the highlights and lowlights of 1970s disaster movies makes for instructional if sometimes excruciating viewing. The white zone is for disasters only Part of any review of 1970s disaster movies should note that some are “act of God” disaster movies, like “Earthquake,” and some are “act of Man” disasters, like the low-bidder wiring in “The Towering Inferno.” I hope to discuss both types here and let God sort ‘em out, which is pretty unfair when you remember that God caused a lot of these disasters. “Airport” started the decade with a bang and, more than a half-century later, it’s still hard to beat. Based on Arthur Hailey’s novel, the 1970 film is true to its title in that it’s more about an airport than an airplane. The cast is impressive: Burt Lancaster as the airport manager carries more gravitas than the entire cast of some films, Helen Hayes is adorable as a stowaway and Dean Martin is, happily, not his boozy self as a pilot with a bomber on his airliner. The movie, the first of a four-film series that ran throughout the decade, is about the operations of a big airport in a snowstorm. Lancaster gets to bark at everybody, including George Kennedy as a blue-collar guy who knows everything about the airport, which must be true because over the course of the series he becomes the captain of the Concorde supersonic jet. There are a lot of scenes with guys in white, short-sleeved shirts hunched over consoles and scenes of Lancaster and Kennedy scrambling various equipment out onto the tarmac. Yes, “Airport” features so many moments when you’ll think it inspired “Airplane!” the 1980 disaster movie parody. Lancaster even barks into the white courtesy phone at some point. “Airplane!” was inspired by “Zero Hour,” a 1957 disaster film that includes the plot point of passengers and crew being poisoned by bad fish. But there’s a lot of “Airport” in “Airplane!” “Airport” remains a first-class effort, one of the three or four pillars or 1970s disaster films. ‘You’ll flood the whole compartment’ – wait, that’s another genre One of the other pillars of 1970s disaster movies is 1972’s “The Poseidon Adventure,” and if you think I’m going to note that “Airplane!” star Leslie Nielsen was the captain of the titular ocean liner, well, you’re correct. But this was the “serious roles” Nielsen, back when he played heroes and heavies in a million movies and TV shows. Like Ted Knight as the cop in the final scenes of “Psycho,” Nielsen’s presence is a little jarring here. But “Poseidon” is in the capable hands of a great cast, featuring Gene Hackman as a minister who leads a group of surviving passengers and crew “up to the bottom” of the ship with hope of rescue. It’s a challenge, walking on ceilings and avoiding flooded compartments, but Hackman and Ernest Borgnine, Shelley Winters, Jack Albertson and a few others are up to the task. It’s been a long time since I read author Paul Gallico’s original novel, the basis for the movie, but if I remember right, the film version took a lot of the book’s characters and beats and turned them into exhilarating cinema. The acting is top-notch, the soap opera subplots aren’t intrusive (as they are in our next film) and the sets, stunt work and Ronald Neame’s direction are peerless. I suspect “Poseidon” has passed into the distant memory of movie fans after a half-century, unfortunately, but it’s still a great watch. ‘And Walter Matthau IS a drunk in a bar …’ It’s sad to say that “Earthquake,” released in 1974, has not held up in a manner similar to “Poseidon.” There’s a horrible fascination to the idea of seeing a major earthquake shattering Los Angeles, but the movie is lacking in so many ways. And, when seen on our home screens, it’s missing its biggest feature: Sensurround. More on that in a minute. Part of what makes “Earthquake” so lackluster when viewed today is that the special effects are not good and the drama is substandard. The soap opera aspects that worked well in “Airport” are cheapened and seem silly here. Charlton Heston is drawn to another woman (the adorable Genevieve Bujold) and turned off by his insecure, shrill wife (Ava Gardner.) Richard Roundtree, the coolest guy in 1970s action with “Shaft,” gets to play a motorcycle stunt driver. George Kennedy takes some time away from the airport to play a Los Angeles cop. Lorne Greene plays Gardner’s father despite being virtually the same age as the actress. The movie is co-written by “Godfather” author Mario Puzo, which seems surprising and disappointing at the same time. The absorbing characters and soapy narrative of Puzo’s mob family epic are just limp here. Future “Dallas” star Victoria Principal wears a bizarre fright wig. Lloyd Nolan, a disaster film stalwart, furrows his brow. Maybe the most surprising appearance is Walter Matthau, acting under a pseudonym, as a guy drinking in a bar, wearing an outlandish wig, hat and outfit. Matthau mugs and rolls his eyes and does the worst job of acting drunk you can imagine. It’s a bizarre presence and his “scenes” go on forever. Fifty minutes into the movie, the Big One kicks in and people react as if they’d never heard what they should do in a quake before, running outside and standing under power lines and inevitably getting squashed by falling debris. Maybe they weren’t properly cautious because of the awful special effects: A house tumbling down a hill literally looks like a cardboard box. Some of the effects are better but still look like miniature trucks being run over the side of miniature highway bridges. The budget for shaking the camera must have been bigger than the budget for building miniature buildings. A couple of shots appear to have been “influenced” by similar moments in “The Poseidon Adventure,” including a man falling into a glass ceiling and a chandelier falling. The producers obviously hoped that Sensurround would carry the day, and it probably did in the film’s initial theatrical run. Sensurround, if you don’t remember it, was a process that was intended to introduce deep, bass rumbling to movie theaters. This was accomplished, more or less, by installing massive speakers in the back of theaters. The speakers were all bass, no treble, and the sound they produced was pretty impressive. The speakers were like something that would have been introduced by pioneering movie gimmick maestro William Castle in the 1950s and 1960s. The expensive speakers were deployed again for a few other films, including the World War II film “Midway” in 1976” and the disaster pic “Rollercoaster” in 1977. ‘Die Hard’ before ‘Die Hard’ The same year as “Earthquake,” “The Towering Inferno” outclassed the competition and remains one of the key disaster films of the decade. Everything was big about the movie: it was based on not one, but two books, and was jointly made and released by Warner Bros and 20th Century Fox. It starred two of the biggest Hollywood leading men of the decade (and the decade before), Paul Newman and Steve McQueen. Newman plays the architect of a 138-floor high-rise in San Francisco, a mix of office and residential space. On the night of the tower’s ribbon cutting, Newman begins to suspect corners were cut on his project as a small fire breaks out in a small utility room. As the staff tries to handle the blaze – yes, this is the disaster movie with O.J. Simpson as a security officer – the architect confronts the builder, played by William Holden. There’s a strong vibe of Amity mayor versus Chief Brody here as Holden doesn’t want to ruin the tower’s debut and Newman becomes more worried and insistent. Before long, McQueen arrives as the fire battalion chief who knows what his firefighters must do but worries many of his men will be lost. “The Towering Inferno” has what might be the biggest cast of all the ‘70s disaster films. Besides the three leads, there’s Faye Dunaway, Fred Astaire, Jennifer Jones, Richard Chamberlain, Robert Wagner and many more. Susan Flannery has a horrifyingly memorable scene that, upon watching today, is too reminiscent of the people who jumped from the World Trade Center on September 11. Producer Irwin Allen, who had overseen classic 1960s TV series like “Lost in Space,” became known as “the master of disaster” with his 1970s films like “Towering” and “Poseidon.” Allen himself produced and directed two other big-screen disaster films, “The Swarm” and “Beyond the Poseidon Adventure,” but neither was as good as his two classics. By the time of “The Towering Inferno,” it became obvious that singer and actress Maureen McGovern was an essential part of the best disaster films. She sang the main themes for “The Poseidon Adventure” – at least for a record release – and “The Towering Inferno” and played Sister Angelina, the singing nun in “Airplane!” Her resume is better than almost anyone in disaster films. Literally sudden death Some people apparently don’t consider “Black Sunday,” the 1977 film directed by the great John Frankenheimer (“The Manchurian Candidate” and “Seven Days in May”) a disaster film, but I think you’d be hard-pressed to name a 1970s film that has greater storyline potential for disaster, other than “Earthquake.” The deaths of tens of thousands of spectators, athletes and others at a Super Bowl would be one of the most notable, even if man-made, disasters ever. “Black Sunday” is certainly a thriller, though, and features a made-for-blockbuster cast, including Robert Shaw, two years after “Jaws,” as an Israeli counter-terrorism agent pursuing a Palestinian terrorist played by Marthe Keller. The pursuit takes Shaw’s hard-charging agent around the world and ends at the Orange Bowl in Florida, where Keller’s operative has recruited a disillusioned Vietnam War veteran-turned-Goodyear blimp pilot played by Bruce Dern to fly the airship into the stadium during the game and let loose a quarter of a million razor-sharp projectiles into the crowd. It’s a suicide mission, Dern and Keller know, but they have their own motivations for the act. So yes, there are a lot of hot-button issues in “Black Sunday,” which is based on a novel by “Silence of the Lambs” author Thomas Harris. Frankenheimer makes Dern’s veteran as sympathetic as possible, but there’s no doubt who the hero is here, and it’s Shaw’s Israeli operative. It’s a good political thriller that expertly sets the stage for a horrifying plot that threatens to mass slaughter a stadium full of people on live television. One of the most awe-inspiring and horrifying moments comes when Dern and Keller do a test run of their plan, riddling a remote barn – and a farmer – with holes. Nowadays, Hollywood would make this film with computer-generated effects. While special effects are certainly used here, this is as thrilling and low-tech a disaster movie as any made. Not even Bond can save ‘Meteor’ No movie that includes Sean Connery’s grousing delivery of the line, “Why don’t you stick a broom up my ass, I could sweep the carpet on my way out” can be all bad. But “Meteor” is pretty bad. So much so that it’s startling to realize that Ronald Neame, who directed “The Poseidon Adventure,” one of the best of the 1970s disaster films, also directed “Meteor,” just seven years later. One essential fact to know about “Meteor” is that it was distributed in 1979 by American International Pictures, a film production and releasing company responsible for an array of releases in the middle of the 20th Century that is dizzying in the scope of its films, from good to awful. For some of us, AIP – the domain of producers and executives James H. Nicholson and Samuel Z. Arkoff – turned out hundreds of films from the likes of producer and director Roger Corman (“The Raven”), Herman Cohen (“I Was a Teenage Werewolf”) and Bert I. Gordon (“The Amazing Colossal Man.”) In other words, moviegoers should have seen “Meteor” coming. “Meteor” followed by a year “The Swarm,” another “death from above” disaster movie, in that case about a horde of killer bees. “The Swarm” had, if anything, a more powerful cast than “Meteor,” toplining Michael Caine and many other stars. “Meteor” had Connery, Natalie Wood, Brian Keith, Karl Malden, Martin Landau “and Henry Fonda as the president,” the titles tell us. It looks like most of Fonda’s part what shot in a couple of days in an Oval Office set, while Connery and the rest got to stomp around a laboratory set for a few weeks. From the ridiculous opening credits – with swoops and whooshes that are meant to recall “Star Wars” and “Superman” – to a score that sounds like it was lifted from a Hammer film, “Meteor” is imitative and derivative. And it doesn’t have much faith in its audience: Literally 15 minutes in, there’s an audio flashback from earlier in the same movie, recapitulating some plot. “Meteor” is prime material for the Mystery Science Theater 3000 treatment, with its incredibly tedious special effects shots and a climax that puts most of the cast in a sub-basement that gets flooded with muddy water. I will note that there’s some mildly startling footage as a splinter of the meteor destroys the World Trade Center in New York. But it’s as sad as it is low budget. You’re better off watching “The Poseidon Adventure” or “The Towering Inferno” or “Black Sunday” again. View the full article

Family secrets are the skeletons in the closet of crime and thriller fiction. They’re the whispered confessions, the buried truths, and the lies that fester over generations, only to explode into chaos when the past comes knocking. From Agatha Christie’s intricate family dramas to Gillian Flynn’s Sharp Objects, family secrets have long been the lifeblood of the genre. But why do these hidden truths hold such power over readers—and why do they make such perfect catalysts for criminal behavior and plot development? Family secrets are the backbone of crime and thriller fiction. They create tension, fuel motives, and keep readers flipping pages long into the night. Whether it’s a hidden affair, a forgotten crime, or a long-lost sibling, these buried truths make for some of the most gripping stories in the genre. Why Are Family Secrets So Powerful in Crime Fiction? – They’re relatable. Who doesn’t have a skeleton or two in their family closet? Even the most functional families have things left unsaid. – They create instant conflict. The moment a character stumbles upon something they weren’t meant to know, the stakes skyrocket. – They drive character decisions. A detective haunted by their father’s crimes. A woman discovering she isn’t who she thought she was. A murderer covering up a dark past. – They make fantastic twists. When a secret comes to light, everything shifts. The hero may no longer be so heroic. The villain may not be the true threat. Some of the best crime and thriller books revolve around secrets that refuse to stay buried. Think about these: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo – A decades-old family mystery filled with violence, betrayal, and a truth no one saw coming. Sharp Objects – A journalist returns to her hometown only to uncover her own family’s disturbing role in a series of murders. Big Little Lies – A tight-knit community built on half-truths and hidden abuse, leading to one fatal night. These stories work because they dig into something primal: the idea that the people closest to us might not be who we think they are, and what that means about our identity. I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of family secrets. How they shape us, how they can be both protection and poison. That obsession led me to write My Sister’s Shadow. Set in 1904 England, the novel follows mirror twins Adelaide and Victoria. One is content, the other restless. When an aristocrat enters their world, their love for one another is twisted by desire, jealousy and sibling rivalry. The heart of the novel is a simple question: how well do you really know the people you love? How far would you go to prove your love? How to Use Family Secrets in Your Own Writing If you’re a writer looking to inject family drama into your thriller, here’s how to do it right: – Keep the secret hidden—until it can do the most damage. Tease it, drop hints, but make the reveal hit hard. – Make it personal. A character’s past should shape their present. The best secrets don’t just shock—they explain why someone is the way they are. – Let it twist the story. Maybe the hero learns they’re related to the killer. Maybe the murder victim had a double life. Maybe the detective’s own past clouds their judgment. – Ensure it’s worth the wait. If the secret comes out and it’s underwhelming, readers will feel cheated. Make it juicy. Make it painful. Make it inevitable. Crime fiction thrives on the dark corners of human nature. And what’s darker than a truth so dangerous it must be hidden? Whether it’s My Sister’s Shadow, or Sharp Objects family secrets make for some of the most haunting, thrilling, and satisfying stories. Because in the end, nothing stays buried forever. And when the truth comes out? Someone always pays the price. *** View the full article

It’s rare to find a crime novel where nobody dies. It’s part of the genre. It’s the rock we most commonly throw in the pond, just to watch the intrigue, confusion, and drama in the ripples. It’s handled in all sorts of ways too. There’s no right or wrong here. There are riveting stories where people die on nearly every page (Hello, Jack Reacher), stories where one singular death rocks an entire community (Hello, Big Little Lies), and everything in between. These themes were heavy on my mind as I began writing What He Left Behind and brought protagonist Grace Bingham into a small-town mystery that brings legacy and impact squarely into the forefront. Bingham, who has never left Oak Hill in her thirty-five years, ends up working alongside long-lost-love Jacob Sawyer, who bolted town as soon as he turned eighteen. I wanted to bring into contrast two potential paths and interrogate whether one had more value than the other, weighing those with deep, singular roots against those with shallow roots but expansive branches. How does that impact one’s legacy? Is one better than the other? Throughout the novel, the theme of legacy and impact on our community reverberates in countless ways. There are characters who have kept secrets all of their lives, only to have the truth leak in their dying days. There are characters who stare down a crossroads and have to decide what they’d like their world to look like. It’s a nearly universal, yet nagging, question that looms throughout the town. These proverbial questions and their respective answers, ultimately, are up to the reader, but in examining the world of legacy and what we leave in our wake, I had some incredible company that begged similar themes in their novels. Here’s a sampling: The God of the Woods by Liz Moore The Van Laar family has been through the wringer and in this multiple timeline slow burn from Liz Moore; so many moments and interactions provoke questions about legacy and what we leave in our wake when we go. Family names play a big part in legacies; some are built by them and some are undone, but as the past meets the present here, almost every character in the novel faces some question about their legacy and life. Treasure Hunters Club by Tom Ryan A fun twist on the generational woes brings multiple characters in Ryan’s novel face to face with old legends and echoes of past mistakes. Mix that with a riveting small town treasure hunt and you’ve got an incredibly rich tale that begs so many questions. Each character in the present day is lugging around the sins or unknowns of their family name, which makes for a compelling read. What You Leave Behind by Wanda Morris Set on the coast of Georgia, Morris’ novel brings protagonist Deena Wood into the world of Holcomb, who is fighting desperately to keep land that has been in his family for generations. Holcomb’s story is a grim one, with strained familial relationships and a lonely existence, and it’s apparent that one of his last great hopes is to keep the land safe. Morris sprinkles these life-and-death questions throughout, keeping Holcomb and their legacy as a common thread through a great mystery. Mother Daughter Murder Night by Nina Simon Everybody with children dreams of someday solving a murder mystery with them. Okay, maybe not everyone. But in Simon’s light-hearted and fast-paced tale, three generations of women come together and grapple with a local mystery. It tests their already-strained relationships and puts their fraying bonds under a microscope, particularly for Lana, the grandmother, who is in her sunset years and staring down her own legacy. *** View the full article

1. Act of Story Statement British expat Maurice Symington, who knows the correct way to behave and expects the same of others, comes home to find the grown son of his long-estranged brother on the doorstep of his Washington, D.C., home. How to respond to this unwelcome intrusion threatens to upend Maurice’s predictable, quiet life in the novel “Georgetown and a Basset Hound.” Good-natured, well-meaning nephew Mike, a recent college graduate, has the smarts to gain acceptance to an elite medical program at pricey Georgetown University near Maurice’s home, but not the means to pay for it. As a last resort, his luckless father, Tom, has sent him from Texas to Maurice in the hope that uncle might be willing to help nephew. It’s everything that tidy, exacting Maurice doesn’t want. Ten years after a painful parting from his only love, Maurice has walled himself off from the world, contenting himself with making properly brewed pots of tea, walking his clumsy but affable basset Henry, and re-reading the British canon. He finds himself living cheek-by-jowl with Mike who, in looking for the guidance he never received from hapless Tom, expects wise answers from this new father figure — a role Maurice never wished to take on. When Tom too arrives unexpectedly, the brothers lock horns repeatedly before being caught in an unraveling of secrets and misunderstandings that have crippled both their lives. Now Maurice must decide whether to keep braving the painful uncovering of past harm — or simply to send his only relations away and again retreat behind the wall that has offered such reliable and familiar, if uninspiring, safety. 2. The Antagonists For years, Maurice’s much-younger brother, Tom, struggled to keep a job in Houston while raising Mike alone. Tom has spent most of his life coping, only intermittently successfully, with uncaring parents, a self-centered ex-wife, and a world that has little patience for an Army vet with only a high-school degree. Nevertheless, he’s good-natured, likable and generous — except when it comes to his brother. Tom was only a boy when Maurice left the family home in London for university, and was still quite young when his father’s oil company transferred the family to Houston, leaving Maurice in England. All Tom has ever heard about his brother since is that Maurice inherited a large sum from an English grandfather that he declined to share with his family and afterward moved to Washington to take a lucrative academic job. Having received nothing from his brother, an embittered and hurt Tom figures Maurice owes something to his nephew, at least. So he sends son Mike, a recent college graduate who has been accepted for a medical fellowship at pricey Georgetown University, to Maurice’s home in hopes of being relieved of the cost of room and board. Circumstances later send Tom to D.C. as well, and the brothers find themselves reliving old family battles. Minor antagonists are Mike, who tries valiantly to make himself agreeable but disrupts his uncle’s quiet life nevertheless, and Ken, an old friend Maurice had dropped abruptly years earlier, who is willing to rekindle their relationship but first has some uncomfortable questions for Maurice. 3. The Title “Georgetown and a Basset Hound” 4. Comps “Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand,” by Helen Simonson “Foreign Affairs,” by Alison Lurie Kazue Ishiguro’s screenplay “Living,” a vehicle for Bill Nighy as a veteran civil servant in London 5. Hook Line A man confronted with the son of his long-estranged brother must decide whether to aid his young nephew or remain behind the emotional wall he has built to shield himself from memories of a cold childhood and the devastating loss of an only love. 6. Two Levels of Conflict Main: Maurice’s cold London childhood has affected him far more deeply than he realizes, making him stand-offish and judgmental — traits that long have kept him from having close friends and serious relationships. He spends years working, playing his cello and caring for a series of much-loved basset hounds until finally allowing one woman past his defenses. A warm and outgoing Italian, she sees him for what he is and does her best to show her love for him, overlooking his inability to connect, until she can take no more, leaving Maurice shattered and even more withdrawn. Secondary: Mike enters Maurice’s life having experienced a hard childhood himself. Though his father has done his best to make Mike feel secure and loved after the boy’s mother leaves, Tom himself had done poorly in school and now finds himself losing job after job in a tight economy. The physical insecurity of being constantly thrown into new schools, living in sketchy neighborhoods and seeing his mother only occasionally has left Mike scrambling to keep up his education, make new friends and earn his mother’s approval. Though intelligent, likable and nice-looking, Mike lacks self-confidence and so does his best to make the peace and get along with everyone — until finally pushed to the brink by what he sees as his father’s ineptitude and his uncle’s unbending nature. Tom too has suffered from the remoteness of his and Maurice’s parents, coping mostly by trying to stay out of the way and not cause trouble. While still a boy Tom moved with his parents to the States, where his father had been transferred, and where he was teased in school for his accent and his poor grades. After high school he enlists in the Army, where his handiness, his team spirit and his ability to follow orders earns him some success. Handsome in his uniform, Tom attracts a shallow, thoughtless woman who moves with him from post to post but eventually finds military life too stuffy and demanding. Tom agrees not to reap and they have their son, Mike. But the civilian world has little use for Tom, as does his self-centered wife, who grows tired of living on Tom’s merely adequate salary and leaves to pursue a frivolous life. Tom is now doubly embittered by the treatment from his wife and from Maurice, whom he thinks abandoned him to their unfeeling parents and cheated him of an inheritance. Faced with looming financial troubles and the expensive fellowship for Mike, Tom sends his son to Maurice for help, hoping to keep Mike from knowing of their dire situation and reasoning that the world owes him at least this much. 7. Setting Much of the story takes place in an English basement, a snug place to which Maurice has retreated from the main floors of his Georgetown row house. He has decorated the homey space with books and art prints, and spends many comfortable hours in front of the fireplace with his affable basset hound, Henry. In back is a narrow but lush back yard, where they enjoy gardening (Maurice) and snoozing (Henry). Living in the basement when an entire house can be had directly above puzzles Mike and irritates Tom; still, Maurice remains adamant about the three of them staying in the small space and declines to say why. Nearby is the local dog park, an open green space with owners and dogs socializing in the area near the entry gate and a small playground behind it. Far to one side is a lonely bench or two; here Maurice reads as Henry romps with the other dogs. Mike, once he arrives, wastes no time in befriending people and pets alike, thus forcing his uncle into speaking with them as well. In the end, Maurice has to admit that most of its habitues, whom he’d previously dismissed, to be friendly, interested and caring A small neighborhood garage is where Maurice rekindles a relationship with Ken, the owner, whom Maurice dropped without explanation years earlier. Ken likes to leave the two garage doors open to the street, with a beat-up plastic wicker chair on the sidewalk where he takes breaks and watches the neighborhood go by. Running the length behind the garage area is a separate room with a makeshift kitchen, a few tables and chairs, and a bulletin board filled with photos of Ken’s family, his clients with their cars and children, and postcards from them all.

The air in the steppes was different today. It wasn’t the merry laughter of the impending spring equinox celebrations. Something was amiss. A feeling as oppressive as a thunder storm had seeped into the serene landscape. It was pungent, not in smell, but in sensation - a prickling awareness that danced on my skin. I looked over the once never-ending, sea-green grass that was now like blades beneath the snow, adorned by the distant holy mountains. The grazing grounds past the huddle of round gers lay empty. The herd had still not returned from the night before. It wasn’t rare for the herd to wander off but this was under my watch. I had to retrieve them or else risk scrutiny from the Oboq’s wife. I placed down the different bowls my grandfather had asked for. He was chanting outside our brightly decorated ger. The rhythmic beat from his animal skin drum was hypnotic. Facing each direction one by one with his eyes closed. He had his headdress, the animal hair covered his face. An array of golden eagle feathers adorned the top. Small mirrors reflected the harsh sun deflecting evil spirits. He was the shaman of our tribe. Shamans in the Runnu empire were all rounded up and killed a hundred years ago except in the north. Shaman’s were rare and one like my grandfather who could manipulate the weather, and let deities use his body as a vessel to protect us were even more so. The energy was flowing from his staff on his back resembling a large white wolf’s head as the protection wards flew up in the air. I knew not to disrupt him during a ritual. “My child you need to get going before the festivities start,” my grandmother said as she mixed beef stew behind me. Blotches of red stained her skin from the harsh sun. I inhaled the salty warm smell. She smiled at me endearingly as she passed me a piece of hard cheese. The sweet taste burst into my mouth. Altan my golden bankhar dog wailed in response. “I know grandmother, I am leaving now,” I said as I picked up my bow and arrows snug against the warm felt of the ger. “Not for you yet,” my grandmother dismissed Altan as he moved at the motion of her hand. Momentarily excited. Suddenly a black horse darted past our ger. My sister’s young horse was as volatile as her. “Buyan!” my grandmother called out. “Get some control!” I warned as I shook my head. “I have control,” Buyan said as she circled around me. Her almond shaped eyes were wider than ever. She pulled her reins in as the stubborn horse shook its body. Her braids fell around her shoulders onto her dark blue deel. Her high cheekbones were sneaking out from underneath the remnants of her childish face. My grandfather slightly grumbled as Buyan’s horse stomped too close to him. The bells and tassels from his cuffs clanged together. “If you can’t control that horse, how are you going to bring the herd?” my grandfather muttered. Buyan turned her red face away as she pulled her horse towards me. “We will,” I said gently. “Let’s go Buyan.” “Hush, let the children be children!” My grandmother barked at my grandfather, before giving one last loving nod to me. Our grandfather shook water from his pouch towards us as he muttered words, a slightly less frustrated nod to me. “Be careful my children,” my grandmother said as she inhaled my cheeks with her nostrils. Her hands were warm on my skin. I walked towards the line of horses tied to the wooden pole further up the stream. Different instruments were being played, my grandfather would soon infuse the music with a ritual allowing it to emit flourishing energy around the land. He was going to use the energy of the clan’s singing and dancing to amplify his ritual tonight. Between the many scattered round felt gers stood the largest ger draped in golden fabrics. Unlike the other gers it stood on wooden stairs. The Oboq was our leader with loyalty to the Khan of the Runnu empire. She was wearing a luminous golden deel, with her hair dressed in a red headdress with pearls running down on two sides of her face. She threw milk into the air, to ask the gods to protect her sons. There was a lack of men at the camp today. Most of the able bodied warriors had been called to the Toriad Capital. Kharkhot was a day’s worth of riding at medium pace if they used four horses each to switch between. Other members of the clan were taking different things to be set up for the celebration. The northern mountains stood high on the horizon without a single stain of human life. The lush forests upon them gave them a green hue. Greenery seeped into the steppes, trying to rid itself of the winter. Blotches of snow stuck to the ground at various distances. “Can you smell it all, it's going to be beyond tasty,” Buyan said on top of her horse, “I am going to be so full I’ll not move at all tomorrow.” Her light brows were like strands of grass. Her high cheekbones were settling into her face, her nose like a button. We resembled each other a lot except my eyebrows were as dark as the night. “I better hope there’s enough delicacies left with you around,” I laughed as we approached the horses tied to the pole. I untied my horse Tsagana as she neighed my long braid slithered over my arm. “Shhh, Shhh,” I said softly, half wiping my sweaty palms on her sturdy body. “You’re alright.” My arm hairs pricked up as Tsagana stomped her hooves. My senses were elevated as I tried to push my worries away. Altan nudged his head at me. His soft golden fur swayed in the wind as I patted his enormous body. The others called him a lazy herder as he preferred to stay with me at all times. The burning cold sun blurred my eyes as I looked over to the other horses tied to the wooden pole, they shook their heads repeatedly. “You don’t think the horses are acting strange?” I asked. “No, why would they?” Buyan said. Her bow was sticking out too wide against her slim frame. I jumped up on my horse in one swift motion as my orange deel glided over it. I guided my horse parallel to Buyans as the sounds of nearby children running around laughing filled the air. One of our younger cousins ran around with his chest bare, his clothing tucked in his waist carrying a wooden sword. A pack of medium sized bankhar puppies followed them, like small bear cubs their barks like hiccups. The other children thundered past them following the stream running on the left. Their joy kept them warm. Buyan tried to slow her horse down, as she sped towards the empty pastures. I exhaled deeply, accelerating my horse. Soon the scattered grey and blue of the gers were behind me. We chose to move our gers to different pastures as it allowed the grass to recover from our herd. This was our summer location where the lands would be even more lush than before