As you know from reading my past posts (and if you’ve ever talked to me at the Circulation Desk), I’m a big fan of time travel books.  And, while there are all kinds of interesting things that can occur in a book about time travel, I have to admit that there are a few tropes that most of the books have in common: someone goes back in time, through mechanical or other means, meets with historical figures (famous or not), and either tries to change the past or tries NOT to change the past.   Every now and then, though, a time travel book comes along that ignores all those conventions and makes its own rules.  Such a book is Ian Mortimer’s The Outcasts of Time, which just came out this month.

The premise is unique: in Great Britain in 1348, the Black Death is ravaging the country. Two brothers, John and William, are suffering from the Plague and know they’re about to die.  In fact, they have exactly six days to live when they are given a wonderful if dangerous choice: either they can go home and spend their last days waiting to die in their own time, OR they can spread out those last six days, living each one 99 years after the last one, hoping to find a cure before their last day ends.

Now, wouldn’t you want to read this book just on that description alone?  Aren’t you thinking about whether you would take that deal or not?  Consider: each day would take you farther and farther into the future, nearly a century at a time, so you would have more and more trouble understanding what’s going on, what people are doing and saying (consider how much language changes over the centuries), how to navigate the world.  And at the same time, consider how much medicine, for instance, has changed over the centuries, and what the odds are that something that might have been deadly and incurable in your time might well turn into something easily treated a few hundred years from now.

Of course the brothers take the jumping-through-time option, and their experiences as they jump farther and farther into the future are revelations to them, even as they find it more and more difficult just to understand what is happening around them.  Their basic assumptions about life and the universe are irrevocably challenged, and they become more and more outcast in the worlds in which they find themselves. The bigger question for them personally, though, is whether they will in fact find a cure before their last day runs out.

Whether or not you’re a fan of time travel books (and by the way, this would count as a time travel book for the Field Library Reading Challenge), the notion of seeing different eras through the eyes of people from an earlier time is intriguing, and the literal race against time in Outcasts of Time should make for a fascinating read.



Bernard Cornwell is a well-known and well-respected author of historical fiction.  He specializes in English history, and has written series covering the Napoleonic Wars (the Sharpe series), the Arthurian legend (the Warlord Chronicles), the 14th century (the Grail Quest), and, most recently, the making of England from a group of warring countries (the Last Kingdom series).  Now he’s turned his keen eye and brilliant research skills to a different, but no less interesting period: Tudor England, and more specifically, the world of William Shakespeare, in his new book, Fools and Mortals.

While I have no doubt Cornwell could, if he wanted, make William Shakespeare himself the narrator and main character of a novel, he’s chosen instead to focus this book around Shakespeare’s younger brother, Richard, instead. Shakespeare did in fact have a younger brother named Richard, but as is often the case with people in this era, not much is known about his life, which gives Cornwell plenty of latitude to create the man’s life to suit his purposes.

This Richard Shakespeare, like his more famous older brother, is living in London and working in the theater.  He’s handsome (one of the things he chooses to emphasize to distinguish himself from William), and so far in his career he’s been playing female roles. He wants to move up in the world and start playing men, but William is not being very helpful, for a variety of reasons.

If the book were just about Richard’s travails in the brutal world of Elizabethan theater, it would probably be entertaining, but there’s more going on: a priceless manuscript written by William has gone missing, probably stolen, and suspicion falls on Richard as the possible culprit. To clear his name, he needs to find the manuscript and the real thief.  But this is, of course, easier said than done, and all Richard’s skills, both legitimate and less legitimate, are going to be necessary as he navigates the world of betrayals and duplicity of the theater and of London itself, and at the same time the world premiere of William’s most famous comedy, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, is in the works.

Cornwell writes the best kind of historical fiction: well-plotted, with realistic characters and so strong a sense of place and time that you feel you’re actually there.  If you have any interest in Shakespeare or Tudor England or just want to immerse yourself in another world and time, check out Fools and Mortals.


It shouldn’t be a secret that I love Seanan McGuire’s Wayward Children series of novellas; I’ve already written about the earlier books in the series.  I’m not alone in my love for these books, either: she won the Hugo and the Nebula for the first one, Every Heart a Doorway, and, while I didn’t read all the nominees in her categories, I can’t say she didn’t deserve to win.  

So naturally, when the latest book in the series, Beneath the Sugar Sky, came out this week, I had to read it immediately, and I’m delighted to report that it is every bit as good as the previous two.

The premise of the series is intriguing enough by itself.  So many children walk through doors or fall through rabbit holes or walk through wardrobes and find themselves in other worlds in literature, and many of them return to this world (though some don’t).  What happens to the returnees who can’t readjust to their former lives?  How hard would it be to turn back into an ordinary teenager when you’ve been a Goblin Prince, or a mermaid, or a Queen of Narnia?  So there’s a special place for children who’ve returned reluctantly to this world and who are hoping to find their way back to the worlds where they belong: Eleanor West’s Home for Wayward Children.  There they are believed (something they don’t experience in the real world), taken seriously, and given the opportunity to seek out the gates or doors or other ways back to the worlds they found in the past.  

Do you have to read the books in order?  No. I didn’t. I read the second book, Down Among the Sticks and Bones before I read Every Heart a Doorway, and I had no problems following the plot or understanding the characters.  Nor do I think I would have had trouble understanding what was going on in this book if I hadn’t read the others. That said, if i’d read them in order, i would have appreciated some of the nuances of Down Among the Sticks and Bones better, so your mileage may vary.  Whichever one you start with, you’re almost certainly going to want to read the others anyway, so why not start at the beginning?

When Rini falls out of the sky and splashes into the pond at the school, her clothes melting in the water, that’s not too unusual for this school.  When she demands to see her mother, Sumi, that turns out to be a bit more of a problem, since Sumi is dead.  Worse, Sumi died here, at the school, before she ever got a chance to return to her world, get married and have a baby.  Even in the nonsense world of Confection, from which Rini came, you can’t actually exist if your mother died before you were born, and Rini is already starting to disappear, piece by piece, so her quest to get her mother back is quite urgent (her slow disappearance is much creepier than that of the main character in Back to the Future, if you’re thinking in those terms).

Fortunately for her, there are several students who are willing to help her: Christopher, who came from a world of the dead and who has the ability to pipe skeletons out of their graves, Kade, the assistant to Eleanor West and future head of the school, Nadya, an exile from an underwater world, and Cora, our protagonist, fat and unloved in this world but a mermaid and heroine in the world she’s trying to find.  Together they journey through graveyards and another world of the dead (where a character from Every Heart a Doorway managed to return), and finally to Confection itself, there to face the evil Queen of Cakes who was defeated by Sumi in the timeline where Sumi lived to return to Confection, but who is now taking over the world and reshaping it in her own image.  

One of the things Seanan McGuire does really well is worldbuilding; even though we don’t spend a lot of time in the World of the Dead, it’s vivid and real and entirely different from Confection, where we do spend a lot of time.  And Confection is both entirely logical, within its own nonsensical rules, and genuinely bizarre: seas of strawberry soda, cornfields of candy corn, buildings made of gingerbread, everything edible and everything made of sugar in one form or another, including some of the people.  The Queen of Cakes is truly disturbing and a worthy foe for Rini and the others.

You care about the characters and genuinely want to see them succeed.  Whenever someone finds his or her way back to the world he or she longs for, it’s emotionally satisfying.  Even if you’re not a fan of fantasy, give Eleanor West’s School for Wayward Children a try, and I think you’ll be caught up in the world.  Or should I say worlds?


Sometimes what the mystery genre needs is a completely new slant to illuminate the things that are best and most fun about the genre. Mysteries have their tropes, the usual settings, the usual issues, the usual cast of shady characters, and after you’ve read a certain number of Sherlock Holmes imitations, or Dashiell Hammett imitators, you could be forgiven for thinking it’s all the same stuff.  Even the addition of women to the ranks of detectives, which has brought us the late Sue Grafton’s Kinsey Milhone or Sara Paretsky’s V. I Warshawski, has led to more versions of the same or similar characters and situations.  Sometimes you just need to move the whole ball of wax to a different place and a different time to see things anew.

Enter The Widows of Malabar Hill, a new book by Sujata Massey. The story is set in 1920’s Bombay, India, and the protagonist, Perveen Mistry, is one of the first female attorneys in the whole country.  Admit it, you’re already kind of intrigued about the setting and the character, and the mystery she finds herself investigating isn’t the usual American murder story transferred to India, but a problem arising uniquely out of Perveen’s character and the setting she finds herself in.

Perveen is a Zoroastrian young woman, daughter of a respected attorney, who got her legal training in Oxford, England, and is now working in her father’s law firm, trying to prove herself. Because she’s a female solicitor, she’s only going to get paperwork, the kind of behind the scenes material that won’t attract much outside attention.

The firm is given the last will and testament of a prominent Muslim mill owner with three widows to probate, and Perveen notices some oddities about the widows’ situation.  All three of them have signed over their entire inheritances to the same charity, leaving them nothing to live on.  One of the widows signed with an x, indicating that she wasn’t even able to read or write her own name, and maybe not understand what exactly she was signing away.

Because these widows live in strict purdah, few outsiders are going to be able to investigate and figure out what might have happened and whether they are being taken advantage of. The women remain inside the zenana, women’s quarters, with their children, and do not have any contact with men who are not part of the household.  Here Perveen has an advantage over the men in her firm, and over the police: being a woman herself, she can enter the household and talk to the women and try to figure out what’s really going on.  She has another advantage as well, one not so obvious: Perveen has had her own encounters with the sexism of the Indian marriage system and as a result, she’s well aware of how women can be silenced, and determined to protect other women from the kind of abuse she is well aware is possible and even probable. The suspicious death of a man who’s the guardian of one of the widows, and the disappearance of a child, only make Perveen more devoted to finding justice, no matter what danger she might be putting herself into in the process.

Join Perveen in the multicultural, vividly rendered world of 1920’s Bombay, and settle in for the beginning of a new and different mystery series.



Is there some unwritten law in publishing that all nonfiction books have to have subtitles, as if the ordinary title isn’t enough? It certainly seems to be a trend, and while sometimes the subtitle gives you a better clue about the contents of the book than you would have had from the title itself, sometimes the subtitle can be a little misleading.  Case in point: Wild Things : The Joy of Reading Children’s Literature as an Adult, by Bruce Handy.  It is an excellent book and an entertaining read, but it wasn’t exactly what I expected from the subtitle.

Consider it yourself.  Wouldn’t you think a book with that subtitle would talk about how as an adult rereading children’s books you see different things in them, things too subtle or too adult for you to have picked up when you were young? That’s not really what happens in this book, though.  For the most part, the author chooses a children’s book or series per chapter (sometimes he’ll put a couple together if they’re thematically linked), talks about the book, and then gives an often entertaining and enlightening history of the writer and the publication of the book in the first place.  Occasionally, very occasionally, he’ll talk about how his children reacted to the book when he read it to them and how their reactions differed from his when he experienced the book as a child, but that’s not the focus of the book.  So if you’re looking for a more personal experience of encountering children’s books as an adult, this is not the book you’re looking for.

However, it is a fun book to read, especially if you enjoy and are familiar with the classics of children’s literature.  You don’t have to agree with the author on all his evaluations of the books; I personally cannot understand how anyone couldn’t love Where the Wild Things Are, a book I not only read as a child and read to my child when she was young but also used to take with me when I babysat as a teenager, and, unlike Handy, I found Anne of Green Gables to be delightful and fun.  

That doesn’t matter, though. You can disagree with the weight he gives to different books, but you will still enjoy his enthusiasm for the books he likes, and the fascinating details he unearths about the authors (especially the lesser known ones, like Margaret Wise Brown, of Goodnight Moon fame.  Who would have guessed she was such a bohemian kind of flake, the kind of woman who would blow her whole first advance from one of her books on a room full of flowers?). He raises, but doesn’t always answer, some interesting questions about the books, too. For instance, why are the boys who are heroes of the classic boy books (Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn and of course Peter Pan) allowed to remain boys throughout the books, while the girls in the classic girl books (the March girls in Little Women, Laura in the Little House series, Anne in the Anne of Green Gables books) have to grow up and get married and become adults?  

It’s a pleasure to be reintroduced to some of your favorite children’s books in the company of such a knowledgeable enthusiast, even when you disagree with him on the value of some of those books.  If you haven’t read all the books he writes about (I haven’t, I admit it), then he provides a good introduction and makes you want to read them for the first time, and he gives you a good excuse to dig up your old copies of your favorites and reread them in the light of his insights and his judgments.


A collection of short stories all written by one person is a bit of a risky endeavor.  If the writer isn’t really good, after a while all the stories start to sound the same, or share the same themes or the same flaws.  It takes a good writer, like Jane Yolen, to take a collection of stories written over a period of years and turn it into a delight like The Emerald Circus.  When you consider how many of the stories in this book are based on famous works of literature we’re all fairly familiar with, her achievement is all the more impressive.

It does help if you’re a fan of Alice in Wonderland, or the stories of King Arthur, because she takes several stories from those worlds.  If you’re a fan of The Wizard of Oz or of Peter Pan, or even if you aren’t, you’ll find her takes on those works to be interesting and quirky.

I personally loved “Lost Girls,” a story set in the world of Peter Pan in which Darla, a modern girl whose mother is a lawyer and who doesn’t take any nonsense from anyone, leads the other Wendys to assert their own rights to adventure and to have the Lost Boys clean up their own messes (one of the things I liked about this story, other than the pirates, who were wonderful, was the vision of Peter Pan himself; I’m kind of partial to versions of Peter Pan which don’t see him as a wonderful innocent).

In my opinion, the best of the Alice in Wonderland themed stories was “Tough Alice”.  Here, Alice frequently finds herself in Wonderland, but always has to deal with the dangerous Jabberwock, until this particular time when she figures out how to defeat the monster.  Clearly Jane Yolen has a feel for the characters of Wonderland, including the Beamish Boy (from the poem “Jabberwocky”) and the various queens, and her sly sense of humor really works here.

Poignantly, she portrays Lancelot of King Arthur’s Camelot as a monk seeking Guinevere’s bones to ask her forgiveness for the way he treated her (and Arthur) in the story “The Quiet Monk.”  She incorporates a real archaeological discovery in Glastonbury into the story, and allows a younger monk (who idolizes Lancelot even before he realizes who this new monk actually is) to be the point of view character.

One of the longer stories in the collection is called “Evian Steel,” and it’s a sort of prequel to the Arthurian legend, explaining (in a way) the creation of the famous Excalibur and how the Lady of the Lake came to have it for him.  While I was personally delighted to recognize some of the characters from the legends (not that I particularly liked all the portrayals, especially not her concept of Morgan le Fay), the best thing about the story is the world she creates, an island where women live and men are forbidden, and the swords they make are made powerful by the blood of their creators.

Her version of The Wizard of Oz is called “Blown Away,” and is told by one of the men working on Uncle Henry’s farm.  It’s both realistic and fantastic, and while there’s no Oz per se, Dorothy does get blown away into another life, another world, and discovers her true self there, returning to the farm only long enough to illuminate the lives of the people she left behind.

She also takes on real life characters, mostly writers, in her stories, starting with Hans Christian Andersen and continuing with Edgar Allan Poe (not her best story in the collection, in my opinion), and Emily Dickinson (in an award winning story that manages to capture not only Dickinson’s unique vision of the world but even the way she used language), and putting them in different settings to imagine what might have made them what they were.

Of course, not all the stories work or are equally good. I could have done without the Beauty and the Beast/Gift of the Magi mashup, and a take on Red Riding Hood just didn’t do much for me, but this is to be expected in a collection of stories.  Some will work better than others, some will be more fun than others, and even the ones I wasn’t thrilled with were well-written.

If you don’t have a lot of time to devote to a book, if you’re a fan of short stories in general, or if you’ve got a taste for fantasy with a feminist twist, then by all means check out The Emerald Circus.


So it should come as no surprise to anyone who’s been reading this blog for any length of time that when I put together The Field Library 2018 Reading Challenge, one of the categories would have to be time travel.  I am, I freely confess it, a sucker for a good time travel book, and, in addition to the list of time travel books which I have posted on the Challenge page, I would like to provide some personal recommendations for particular books involving time travel which are dear to my heart (and excellent books as well, of course).

Strange as it seems, the Field Library does NOT have a copy of the original time travel book, H. G. Wells’ classic, The Time Machine (we do have a children’s retelling of that book, but it’s not quite the same, is it?).  However, don’t be too downhearted, because we have H. G. Wells himself as a character in one of my favorite time travel novels, The Map of Time, by Felix Palma. You don’t have to have read The Time Machine to appreciate Wells’ character in The Map of Time (though of course if you are familiar with his work, this book and its sequels become even more entertaining), because he’s quite an endearing (if sometimes infuriating) character in his own right here.  The book involves several supposed time travel schemes, one to make money, one to save a person’s life, and one that involves real actual time travel.  The intertwining plots are surprisingly easy to follow, and it’s a lot of fun to read. This is in fact the first book in a trilogy, but I have to emphasize that it is a full-fledged and complete story in its own right.  As I was reading it the first time (it bears rereading, to appreciate exactly how Palma put the whole thing together) and I got close to the end of the book, I was afraid that there was no way he was going to make everything work (if I’d known it was the first book of a trilogy I would have been even more worried), but in fact, all the plots are resolved, and brilliantly (I was so delighted when I reached the climax of the book I actually laughed aloud when I was reading it).  You don’t have to read The Map of the Sky or The Map of Chaos, the next two books in the series, in order to love this book, but if you enjoy this one, you will LOVE the next two as well, even if they’re not part of this year’s challenge.

Want something simpler and more madcap?  Try the late great Douglas Adams’ The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, the second book in the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy series, and no, even though this is the second in a series, you don’t have to have read the first one to enjoy or follow this one, and in fact this was the first book I read in the series (aside from one tiny spoiler which I didn’t grasp when I read this, I had no problems reading the first book after this one).  The first book explains why the earth was made, and the results from one set of characters’ time travel in this book explains what, exactly, the ancestors of human beings were (it also explains who really runs the universe, but a different set of characters discover that).  The restaurant of the title happens to be poised at the very edge of the total destruction of the universe at the end of time, and in the universe of this series, it makes perfect sense that someone would have figured out how to exploit that moment and make a fine dining experience out of it.  If you’re not too bound by logic and reality and if you have a warped sense of humor (this pretty much describes me), then you’re going to enjoy The Restaurant at the End of the Universe and the other two books in the trilogy (if you like Adams, I recommend The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, this book, and Life, the Universe and Everything; while there are other books ostensibly in the series, the first three are, in my opinion, the best).

The thing about time travel is that it makes for really complicated plots, and I can’t think of another time travel book I’ve read that has a more complicated plot than The Time Traveler’s Wife, by Audrey Niffenegger. Our protagonist, Henry, has a genetic condition whereby he will suddenly and without warning jump through time, appearing in different places at different ages. He and Claire, his wife, are very much in love despite the difficulties his chrono-displacement causes.  This is a moving, romantic book, and I have recommended it to dozens of people face to face, so I have no problem recommending it highly here as well. You should be warned, though: the plot jumps around in time and place the way Henry himself does.  Pay attention to the headings of each chapter, which tell you where and when you are with each character, and by the time you’ve gotten through the first fifty pages or so, you’ll get the swing of it. It’s absolutely worth the effort.

The opening line of Kurt Vonnegut’s classic novel, Slaughterhouse Five, is : “Listen: Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time,” and that’s an accurate description of what’s going on in the book, but there’s so much more going on with the plot and with Billy Pilgrim than mere time travel. The book isn’t told sequentially because Billy Pilgrim, our protagonist, has been kidnapped by Tralfamadorians, aliens who live in four dimensions at once, to whom time is pretty irrelevant (their phrase, which Billy uses himself frequently, is “so it goes”, a fatalistic response to the wrongs of the world); we hop around from Billy’s youth to his early days in World War II to his capture by the Germans and his more or less accidental survival of the Allied firebombing of Dresden to his death, then back to his marriage and the birth of his children, then to his experiences on Tralfamadore.  It’s actually easier to follow than the beginning of The Time Traveler’s Wife, and I personally find it (along with Cat’s Cradle and Mother Night) one of the best books Vonnegut ever wrote.

For more of my thoughts on time travel books, you can check here and here and here.  But please do give the whole time travel genre a try, and not just because it’s one of the categories in this year’s challenge, but because it’s mind boggling and fun.


For the past couple of years I’ve been running reading challenges for patrons here in the Field Library, using the Read Harder challenge lists from the Book Riot site. And I have to confess that for the first year, 2016, it was a lot of fun, finding the books that fit the categories and enticing readers (including myself) to read them and try different things. A lot of people won the challenge that year and were delighted with their efforts.

But then came 2017, and the Read Harder challenge was less fun, more obscure. It was harder to find books here at the Field Library that would fit the categories (for instance, the book published by a micropress was absolutely impossible, so I cut that category out altogether), and I think I wasn’t alone in finding the choices to be less enticing.  

This year I’m running a reading challenge, but it’s a different one. It’s The Field Library 2018 Reading Challenge, and our goal is to explore the resources this library has that many people aren’t aware of.  The categories are broad and, if I do say so myself, sometimes quirky, but I believe it will be fun for anyone who wants to participate with me.

So if you’re interested, whether you’re someone who’s done both the previous challenges or someone who hasn’t even tried one before, or someone who’s interested in getting out of a reading rut but isn’t sure how to do it, come to the Field Library and sign up at the Circulation Desk!  We have multiple copies of the list and over the course of 2018 I’ll be posting lists of books that fall into each of the categories, with displays at the front desk.

Come and explore The Field Library’s collection and boldly read where no one has read before, or at least where you haven’t read before.  Join The Field Library 2018 Reading Challenge!


What is it about the Scandinavian mystery writers?  Why are their books so dark and yet so compelling?  From Jo Nesbo’s Harry Hole series (which I love passionately) to Stieg Larsson’s Millennial series (more popularly known as The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and its sequels), to Karin Fossum’s Inspector Sejer books, with a whole lot of other authors in similar veins in between, there’s a whole genre of Scandinavian mysteries, and they’re addictive in the extreme. Perhaps it’s something about the long winters and the long hours of night.  Perhaps it’s the writers’ reaction against the countries’ reputation as the best and happiest places on earth.

The latest entry in this category is Ragnar Jonasson’s Nightblind, a sequel to Snowblind, set in a small town in Iceland which is so quiet and crime-free that nobody locks their doors. Their local police officer, Ari Thor Arason, protagonist of the previous book and a fairly recent arrival from the Big City, Reykjavik,  has an uneasy relationship with the local people.  Then his superior officer is shot, at point blank range, in a deserted house. If Ari hadn’t called in sick that night, he realizes he might have been the victim, which adds a note of urgency to his efforts to solve the crime, as the long arctic night begins to close in. The whole country is shocked at the murder (Iceland’s annual murder rate is in the single digits), especially of a police officer, which puts more pressure on Ari and his new supervisor, sent from the city, to solve the case as soon as possible. But this is going to be more complicated than they imagined, involving dark hidden secrets and a long buried past, local political corruption, a compromised new mayor of the town, and someone who’s being held in a psychiatric hospital in Reykjavik for reasons we don’t learn until fairly late in the book.  The claustrophobic nature of a murder in a small town where everybody knows everybody else and everybody’s hiding something is increased by the bitter Icelandic winter, closing in on everyone and forcing people to stay where they are.

If you’re a fan of good Scandinavian mysteries, or if you just like a good solid mystery where the clues are revealed slowly amid red herrings and dark hints about the way the past casts its shadows on the present, then you should definitely pick up Nightblind.  


After a stimulating discussion about The Wicked Boy and Victorian crime, questions of sanity and morality (we really do have great discussions in this group!), the Field Notes Book Group chose the book for our January meeting: My Name Is Lucy Barton, by Elizabeth Strout.

A short and deceptively simple book by a Pulitzer Prize winning author, My Name Is Lucy Barton is narrated by Lucy, looking back on her experience when she was hospitalized for a long period and her estranged mother came to visit her for a period of days.  Neither Lucy nor her mother finds it easy to talk about the things that really matter, Lucy’s childhood and her mother’s life when Lucy and her siblings were growing up, so instead they circle around their truths, talking about other people Lucy knew in her childhood in a small rural community in Amgash, Illinois, and all the while other truths, about Lucy’s childhood, her marriage, her ambitions, and what estranged her from her family, lurk under the surface.  This well-written book is a fast read and yet the characters haunt you for some time after you finish reading it.

Come to the Field Library and pick up your copy of My Name is Lucy Barton, and then join us on January 20, 2018, at the Field Library Gallery from 11:00 to 12:30 for lively discussion and tasty refreshments.