Sarah Smith, The Vanished Child

A historical mystery of sorts, although it reads much more like a straight historical novel with a strong mystery element than a genre mystery.

At the turn of the century, a suicidally depressed biochemist by the name of Reisden bumps into an old man who addresses him by a name Reisden doesn't recognize; later, he is approached and asked to impersonate a long-since-vanished child in order to straighten out a complicated situation in which the fact that the child heir is neither present nor legally dead has stuck an entire family in legal, financial, and emotional limbo. Reisden agrees, but once he arrives and becomes entangled in the family affairs he learns that he might actually be that vanished child; but if so, why doesn't he remember his past, as the child was nine when he disappeared, and if not, will Reisden's presence flush out the murderer?

The book is extremely well-written and well-characterized. A plotline involving a near-blind female pianist is so much better and less sappy than I expected it to be when it was introduced that I was shocked, and I really felt for the characters. The period details involving Reisden's work, early forensics, education for the blind, and lots more are all interesting, thoroughly integrated into the story, and essential to the plot and themes. A terrific book. It has two sequels, which I haven't read yet. Spoil me for major plot developments in those and die.

Noel Streatfeild, White Boots aka Skating Shoes

Lalla, a spoiled rich orphan who's an ice skating prodigy with a stage aunt from hell befriends Harriet, a poor girl who's allowed on the rink as a charity case because her doctor suggested skating as physical therapy after a long illness left her wobbly and weak. Over the course of the book, their lives begin to merge and their roles slowly reverse.

This is one of my favorites of Streatfeild's books that I've read so far, with the other being The Painted Garden aka Movie Shoes. The financial mess Harriet's family's in-- their general store is entirely stocked with whatever random and ill-chosen food is grown, hunted, or collected by a uncle who eats the best of what he gets and sends them the remainders-- is both awful and hilarious, and Harriet's parents and siblings are distinct and fun characters. But the heart of the story is the difficult friendship between Harriet and Lalla, who genuinely care for each other but have strains put on their friendship by competition and disapproving adults. It's also a great portrayal of the pressure of competitive sports, and the difference between following your personal dreams and having a dream imposed on you by someone else.

Out of print, but worth checking out from the library or doing a search for.

Fishes review in Minneapolis Star-Tribune

Growing up in an ashram in India: A girl's self-portrait

All the Fishes come Home to Roost, by Rachel Manija Brown.

Catherine Preus, Star Tribune
Last update: January 25, 2006 – 11:34 PM

"I could see why Mom thought I ought to have written more about baking cookies and less about decapitations. But the decapitations had made more of an impression on me."

A memoir about a happy childhood (with the exception of Annie Dillard's "An American Childhood") looks fairly dull next to Rachel Manija Brown's grim and funny story of growing up in an ashram in India.

Mani, as she was called, was the only child among the "Baba-lovers," an odd collection of pilgrims who believed that Baba, an Indian guru, was God. Mani's beautiful but wounded mother spends much of the book chanting "Baba, Baba, Baba," while her dad sits back and observes the drama with stinging sarcasm.

In her writing, Brown certainly takes after her father, but with more humor. Yet she is also woundable, making the reader ache for her as she tries to survive Holy Wounds of Jesus Christ the Savior Convent School or a nosy pilgrim asking her, at age 18, if she's still a virgin "like Baba wants you to be."

Her strange life (even as a kid she realized it was strange) in a dusty and unlovely place is illuminated in bright flashes of humor or violence or exotic disease.

There are jolts of surprise at the cruelty Mani witnesses, as when the nuns at Holy Wounds make the children stand in the sun for hours, until some of them faint or vomit -- and are punished for it. Or when the child who stutters and doesn't read the language very well is made to read aloud, then beaten when he fails.

Brown muses about whether experience makes us who we are, or we mold our experiences because of who we are. Her book makes a good case for either side.

Her life in India provided plenty of the raw material to keep a teller of tales busy. But her experiences, in the hands of a lesser writer, could bog down in self-pity or veer into a cringe-fest for the poor reader.

Brown avoids those pitfalls with panache. In one chapter, Mani and her mom take a terrifying taxi ride in a driving rain (all driving in India sounds quite terrifying) that ends in nearly being crushed by an oncoming truck.

The title of the chapter: "101 Things to Do with a Baked Potato." You'll have to read it to find out why.

Catherine Preus • 612-673-1788

Thanks to mrissa for finding this one for me!

Also, this is my favorite review opening yet.

Fishes review in Minneapolis Star-Tribune

Growing up in an ashram in India: A girl's self-portrait

All the Fishes come Home to Roost, by Rachel Manija Brown.

Catherine Preus, Star Tribune
Last update: January 25, 2006 – 11:34 PM

"I could see why Mom thought I ought to have written more about baking cookies and less about decapitations. But the decapitations had made more of an impression on me."

A memoir about a happy childhood (with the exception of Annie Dillard's "An American Childhood") looks fairly dull next to Rachel Manija Brown's grim and funny story of growing up in an ashram in India.

Mani, as she was called, was the only child among the "Baba-lovers," an odd collection of pilgrims who believed that Baba, an Indian guru, was God. Mani's beautiful but wounded mother spends much of the book chanting "Baba, Baba, Baba," while her dad sits back and observes the drama with stinging sarcasm.

In her writing, Brown certainly takes after her father, but with more humor. Yet she is also woundable, making the reader ache for her as she tries to survive Holy Wounds of Jesus Christ the Savior Convent School or a nosy pilgrim asking her, at age 18, if she's still a virgin "like Baba wants you to be."

Her strange life (even as a kid she realized it was strange) in a dusty and unlovely place is illuminated in bright flashes of humor or violence or exotic disease.

There are jolts of surprise at the cruelty Mani witnesses, as when the nuns at Holy Wounds make the children stand in the sun for hours, until some of them faint or vomit -- and are punished for it. Or when the child who stutters and doesn't read the language very well is made to read aloud, then beaten when he fails.

Brown muses about whether experience makes us who we are, or we mold our experiences because of who we are. Her book makes a good case for either side.

Her life in India provided plenty of the raw material to keep a teller of tales busy. But her experiences, in the hands of a lesser writer, could bog down in self-pity or veer into a cringe-fest for the poor reader.

Brown avoids those pitfalls with panache. In one chapter, Mani and her mom take a terrifying taxi ride in a driving rain (all driving in India sounds quite terrifying) that ends in nearly being crushed by an oncoming truck.

The title of the chapter: "101 Things to Do with a Baked Potato." You'll have to read it to find out why.

Catherine Preus • 612-673-1788

Thanks to mrissa for finding this one for me!

Also, this is my favorite review opening yet.