richardrbecker's reviews
523 reviews

A Cat's Cradle authentically explores a child's innate need for acceptance, tendency to misconstrue love, and blindness in the face of betrayal. But what makes the book as remarkable as it is disturbing is how Rheilan delicately blurs the boundaries between victim and villain. 

At its heart, A Cat's Cradle is the story of a nearly invisible child growing up in a single-parent household. Mary Crouch, one of four children, is arguably the most neglected as her brothers lean on each other while excluding her outright. Despite her isolation, Mary proves to be exceptionally caring when she attempts to care for a cat that her brothers carelessly wound. 

In doing so, she meets a fellow outcast. Ralph is a 31-year-old man who has served 14 years in prison for killing a girl in the same village. After being released, he returns home but is reluctant to live with his mother since nobody is willing to forgive him for what might have been an accidental death. 

The two form an immediate bond, which takes on a sinister tone as Ralph swears Mary to secrecy. From this moment forward, it doesn't take long to draw what might be parallels to his dark past. Here, Rhelain slowly checks off all the warning signs as Ralph gains Mary's trust and creates more opportunities for them to be alone together. But what stands out in the telling is it isn't always calculated but rather something subconscious that drives Ralph's dark motivations, as well as Mary's need to justify even the most heinous actions of her only friend. 

A Cat's Cradle is a triumph as a psychological thriller that accurately portrays the complexities of a heart-wrenching subject. Likewise, Rhealain delivers a masterstroke with an ending that leaves any wounds we might feel as readers raw and wide open. 

The Berry Pickers is a delightfully immersive read, which almost feels odd to say, given the story is about something that happened as opposed to what is happening. And yet, Amanda Peters captures the full effect of this one tragic event by coloring the lives of those who lived it.

When a four-year-old Mi’kmaq girl goes missing in Maine, it is a tragedy that haunts the survivors — and none of these survivors is more haunted than the two characters whose perspectives we share. The first is Joe, brother to four-year-old Ruthie, because he harbors more guilt over the family’s loss more than anyone. Never mind that he was only six years old when it happened. The second, is Ruthie herself, except she has adopted the name Norma by the time we hear from her. 

You see, Ruthie, now Norma was abducted. Don’t worry. This isn’t a spoiler. Peters doesn’t make this fact a mystery to her readers. It’s only a mystery to the characters within — Joe who insists that Ruthie is alive and Norma who feels the ghost of her real identity as something she can’t put her finger on and doesn’t have much reason to try while she is gaslighted by her new family. 

Throughout the novel, Peters walks us through these two lives (and the lives of their immediate family) with an easy unaffected triumph of sorts. And yet, all the while, the shadow of this past trauma haunts them with varied degrees of subconscious and subtle influence, often leading the reader to wonder what different paths they might have taken had the abduction never taken place. 

Overall, The Berry Pickers is a remarkable book, a story that hooked me for its tenderness more than its plot. I felt connected to it in ways I can’t even explain beyond the secrets I eventually uncovered in my own life. And while I would have liked to connect more to Maine and Mi’kmaq, there is something to be said for an author who is able to help us touch the truth of something beneath the surface of what we know.

James Rollins pushes his newest Sigma Force installment toward more of an eco-thriller than the typical techno-adventure-special ops-thriller mashup that makes up much of the series. That's not to say there isn't an entity interested in weaponizing the newest find. There is. Such entities feel more like a distraction than the intellectual adventure exploration of the source material. 

In Tides of Fire, Rollins links Aboriginal mythology, Theia impact theories, the panspermia hypothesis (octopuses and other life from outer space), and a contrarian Out of Africa theory. He creates several fascinating thought exercises on top of a physical plotline, including massive quakes, deadly tsunamis, and volcanic eruptions. This shouldn't be a surprise. The stakes are always high. 

What's missing this time out, it seems to me, is a sense of anything potentially horrific. Sure, seeing the world burn would be horrible, but such a world-ending fate feels tame compared to some of the other events Sigma Force has dealt with over the years. They have had to deal with quantum-disrupting Nazi scientists, ancient nanotechnology, dark energy from outer space, and biodiversity extinction (to name a few). The consequences are real this time out, but the threat isn't necessarily as sinister as a few bad apples. 

Tides of Fire still ranks as one of the better Sigma Force outings because Rollins presents some science-fact that is even more interesting than some of his other forrays. Reading it might make us rethink some scientific truths we've come to cling to as fact. And that always makes for a fun read.

I'm always looking for new ideas and material related to education, both my own and others (as I taught at university, coached high school sports, and am a part-time speaker). I chose A Thomas Jefferson Education because of my interest in Jefferson, having no knowledge of the author or TJed.

I'm not reviewing the author or TJed. I'm only reviewing the book, which raised several salient points about education and the importance of classics and mentor teachers. That said, I found some of the ideas in A Thomas Jefferson Education interesting and worth exploring, including the idea of countries having a sense of themselves as a nation based on literature, e.g. Shakespeare for England, Tolstoy for Russia, etc. There is some truth to the idea, and we may have neglected some of our treasured national texts, including The Declaration of Independence and what it means. 

Overall, I found the book to be an inspiring piece of work, something most teacher mentors can get behind with some relatively minor adjustments in its application (because we've moved so far away from these principles). Specifically, we need to recognize that the United States is a massive nation (spanning a geography the size of Europe) and may require some regional and local adjustments to make it work. It would probably work better to introduce classics and contemporary literature into classrooms and make specific classic titles more accessible by matching them to readers based on age and ability. Then, someone could develop a recommendation tree that helps students move from more easily digestible classics to more challenging ones. (It seems that the order in which one is exposed to classics can make a huge difference in how well they receive them.) In addition, more neo-classics (like Dune) and diverse titles (Lorraine Hansberry, Zora Neale Hurston) deserve their place. 

Still, none of this diminishes the book, which presents a worthwhile foundation that any educator can work from to develop something even better, especially among mentor teachers hoping to break the downward educational spiral we've seen occur over the past few decades (as a whole, not necessarily as an individual educator's work). In fact, I wish this book existed when I was providing my own children an augmented education because I was not satisfied with the material they were covering in a public school or in a charter school. Simply put, I wanted to teach my children how to think, not what to think. And it is this idea more than any other DeMille drives home. 

Couples is one of those books that will feel alien to most readers today, especially younger ones. Published in 1968 and set in the early 1960s, it captures suburbia that would be unrecognizable today — a time when America was entering an era of free love and swingers with the advent of birth control and decades before the threat of AIDs and other more permanent STDs. As such, it's a time capsule. 

Affairs, swaps, flings, and their consequences drive the novel despite some passing observations of more historical events, such as the Kennedy assassination. The story is told through the relationships of ten couples who live in Tarbox, Massachusetts, with Piet Hanema controlling much of it. He has one affair after another until one err in judgment and promises to give a community that embraced the 60s as a means to escape the pressures of Protestant sexual mores set in the 1950s.

Along with its characters within the novel, Updike's treatment of sex takes advantage of another awakening toward the end of the 1960s when real and raw writing paralleled a maturing sexual revolution. But like the 1970s that would follow, the novel also holds its participants as slaves to an older conscience, leaving them to deal with guilt and survival sadness. And therein lies the juxtaposition. Couples simultaneously celebrates and punishes its cast of characters. It is both real and raw, and although it feels longer than it needs to be, it demonstrates the power and prowess of its author, especially his ability to capture culture in its moment. It's not a favorite, but five stars nonetheless. 

Glory Be is best described as mystery light, despite all the elements it has working for it. What works is Glory Broussard, an amateur investigator and small-time bookie. The location of Lafayette, Louisiana, adds some interest for anyone who enjoys a bayou setting. And the premise — the death of her best friend, a nun, who either committed suicide or (more than likely) was murdered. 

While one would suspect this to pack a punch as a trifecta, Glory's age sometimes makes her more plodding than plotting in her work despite a sometimes fiery disposition. This opens up some room for her less interesting daughter to take some pages. Although Lafayette is billed as a supporting character, it never truly emerges as much as a sketch of a backdrop. Lastly, more challenging in some respects, is that the writing style is almost too simple in its presentation. The outcome is mixed in that it's a fine story but not one that is memorable or will even get under your skin. 

Her shadow investigation isn't much more than collecting gossip from otherwise interesting people like oil tycoons, churchgoers, drug dealers, and voodoo priestesses. But even these false flags are largely stunted as playing any real part in the novel beyond an endless series of coffee clutches before the rushed conclusion that robs the novel of its climax, leaving readers to scratch their heads and conclude: Well, that happened. 

It is a fine series debut for someone looking for a mature amateur sleuth with all the appeal of an afternoon special on a lazy day with nothing else on. Those have a place too, sometimes. And so does Glory Be.

There is a lot to like about The Night Shift by Alex Finlay. The novel starts with a shock: Four girls working the night shift on New Year's Eve are attacked in a Block Buster Video store in Linden, New Jersey. Never mind that Y2K reference. It's merely window dressing as most of the story takes place 15 years later when four more teens are attacked — this time in an ice cream store. 

In both instances, one victim survives, giving the two survivors (and an FBI agent) an opportunity to team up and find out if the killers are connected. Finlay tosses a bunch of other characters into the mix, telling various stories from three perspectives (but he uses these to cut into many more) and laying out plenty of false leads that mean absolutely nothing. These points kept me from becoming immersed in the book as there are too many characters to keep track of (that don't matter to the story) and too many false leads that pad the story to keep readers guessing. I suppose that works for many readers today — but I tend to think that a gun in scene one needs to be shot at some point. It's not just there to fill space and distract us. 

Likewise, as a false plot-driven story, I never connected with any characters. A couple came close, but their presence tends only to scrape the surface of their existence. Ergo, one of the perspectives is Chris, a local public defender. He has the potential for a great backstory but we are generally confined to knowing him through his obsession with a video podcaster that he believes to be his brother (who happens to be the primary suspect in the initial murder). Likewise, Ella is mainly confined to her backstory as the Blockbuster survivor, who volunteers to help the ice cream store survivor. And that leaves us with Keller, the pregnant FBI agent, which is, by all counts, the one most people can connect with during the novel. 

Finlay's work shines in bringing these three isolated perspectives together to form a bigger picture and ultimately help the reader discover and unravel the mystery element of this modern thriller. But for me, two of the book's selling points never paid off. There is no 1990's nostalgia, and the stakes are never raised. By the end, it feels like we fizzle into the solution, and that's a shame. The Night Shift needed to end with a bang to make up for characters who mostly lacked depth. And while that means it will be fun for some, the book doesn't pack the punch some readers hope for. 

Tamar had some promise as a World War II Dutch resistance story but never took off. The plot and pace remained flat from the first page to the last, which is surprisingly tricky to do with a book about espionage. Or maybe that is part of the problem. 

Tamar bills itself as something different than it is while being neither thing it could be. It's a story about a girl who inherits a box containing a series of clues and coded messages. But her story only takes off one-quarter of the way through the book. And as far as heritage mysteries go, there isn't much to it. Her grandfather wanted her to find someone. You can decide if it's climatic or not.

I suspect Peet didn't think it was, which would explain why the girl's story accounts for less than 25 percent of the book. But her grandfather, despite being one of a couple of spies in Holland, doesn't give us much of a conflict either. Mostly, he and his fellow spy Dart fly under the radar—so much so that they try to shut down actual Dutch resistance because they are more afraid of the Germans' retaliation than the Dutch themselves.

Tamar is especially concerned for the safety of all Dutch, but particularly one—the same one who will eventually become the girl's grandmother. (And this isn't even a spoiler, given you can see the relationship developing a mile away in the book's opening pages.) So there you have it. Of the two plot lines, the mystery is a non-mystery with no real stakes, and the espionage story never evokes any sense of real danger (despite the body count). As far as Nazis go, these are relatively tame in their indifference. 

The book's most redeeming quality is some authenticity in its portrayal of spies who mainly send and receive messages from England (but with no definitive purpose). Unfortunately, even this ends with such a whimper that not even Peets talent as a writer can pull it off. 

All Systems Red is a super short novella with an impressive hook that will make you want to read the rest of the series. The first installment (a mere 160 pages) introduces a corporate-dominated spacefaring future, with our protagonist being self-aware SecUnit (part AI, part machine, part clone) that refers to itself as Murderbot. 

Murderbot also has a secret. It has hacked its governor module, which is designed to make it subservient to the human crews it protects during planetary missions. Because the SecUnit operates without a governer module, it has considerably more free will, which is especially interesting as it chooses to protect its humans despite being scornful toward them. 

Disabling its governor module has an additional advantage for the crew because another hacker may have used that module to take control of SecUnits operating on nearby missions. The results are disastrous, forcing Murderbot and its humans to reevaluate their relationships. 

Despite the novella obviously being written as a hook for a series of short installments, the read is engaging and well worth it. There is no doubt I'll be visiting Wells again in the near future.

Callings: Finding and Following Authentic Life may deserve a higher rating than a three because it contains several worthwhile gems that could help someone unhook themselves from whatever society compelled them to do and find their true calling. But the work Gregg Levoy asks us to do as readers to ferret those gems out gives me pause. It's a lengthy, overwritten tome that feels considerably longer than its 329-page count (and noticeably thin margins).

One of my favorite gems, in fact, is something I've taken to heart and already passed on to my children. Levoy rightly says it takes more effort to prevent yourself from following a calling than it does to follow one. For example, if you are an artist but never make time for art because you feel guilty about the time it would take away from more routine tasks, you could inadvertently expend more energy than if you just made time to do it. You could even be making yourself miserable and unhealthy. 

This thought gem more than makes up for the price of admission, but not all of them do. Calling is primarily an extensive collection of short essays that consist of one part anecdotal life experience and one part historical wisdom that Levoy has chanced upon. These essays, in turn, are organized into an outline of sorts, roughly divided into removing barriers and being open; receiving calls through dreams, omens, and intuition; taking pilgrimages of sorts to find one's true direction; and knowing which calls to say no to and which to invite right into your life. After the essays, Levoy includes resources and bibliography as inspiration to keep the conversation going. 

The first two parts read stronger than the final three, when it becomes a bit more of a slog of support essays that attempt to shore up some larger points. And some, like looking out for a mentor, feel like they could be better placed. It would have fit better in the beginning, perhaps one of those pilgrimages he mentions, as we've all experienced times when we've encountered the right teachers at the right times in our lives — often when we're trying to be receptive to our true calling. 

Who knows? Maybe Levoy is one of those teachers for someone. There are times he comes across like a mentor, like when he writes something like: "A key is made for only one purpose. To fit a lock. Not just any lock. One lock. Anyone who feels made to do one particular thing in this world but is unable to do it becomes, in a sense, an unreconciled key." But then there are times that he digresses into something else: "In my sleep, when I dream of being chased, I'm sometimes aware that if only I could get myself to wake up, I'd be safe." He writes this to introduce the concept of an inner captain, but this particular essay muddles more than it provides clarity, like the key concept. Ergo, he would have done better saving the thought for another book. 

So therein lies my struggle with this book. It does its job of examining the various kinds of calls we receive and how to act on them. But sometimes, the author gets lost in his calling as a storyteller, telling us things that just get in the way. Enough so, I might revisit the book with a highlighter to cut its content neatly in half or a third. And then, having done so, I would appreciate it all the more with less of it.