"The Clockmaker's Daughter" by Kate Morton

Did you know that Sam only gave me one book for Christmas because he noticed it was taking me so long to get through all the other books he had gifted to me on previous birthdays and Christmases? I feel like I'm being punished. But it's good incentive to prioritize the books he has given to me. I think this one was from my last birthday.

The Clockmaker's Daughter is very much in the same vein as the other Kate Morton books I've read: great story, secrets and mysteries, blending of past and present, multiple viewpoints, and generally fun to read. It's not unique enough to be mind-blowing, but I enjoyed reading it.

It's the story of a special house situated in a bend in the upper Thames, told by a number of characters with ties to the house. At the beginning I thought the narration would come from only two perspectives: that of Birdie, who was in the house when tragedy struck in 1862, and that of Elodie, an archivist who comes across the sketchbook of the house's former owner, Edward Radcliffe. But the farther in I got, the more narrators chimed in, each with their own secrets to reveal.

"The Distant Hours" by Kate Morton

The sad day has come. My illusions are dispelled. I officially no longer find Kate Morton magical. Each book I've read since The House at Riverton has speeded my realization. Yes, her books have intricate plots, great stories, and I love the secrets and mysteries, but they no longer float above the regular bookshelf rabble; they have come down with a thud.

I loved The House at Riverton and it made me expect great things from Morton's other books. But I'm not sure I can say Riverton was the best of the four I've read, or even that it's really my favorite. Maybe if I'd read Hours first it would have had the same effect on me as Riverton. I do think, though, that I've found Morton's four books to be too much of the same thing. An older generation with terrible secrets, a younger generation prying their way into the past. Different characters and slightly different settings, and of course different secrets, but somehow nothing new.

That's not to say it wasn't fun! I have read books I've had to force my way through, and this certainly was not one of those. Morton's stories grab me by the arm and whirl me into a vortex. Hours mostly takes place in a castle, with three old spinster sisters whose father had penned The True History of the Mud Man years earlier. There is madness, and destroyed love, and death, and betrayal, covered by layers of lies meant as protection of loved ones. And there is a young woman with her own link to the castle who is peeling back those layers. Even so, I was left thinking I probably wouldn't bother reading any more of Morton's books. (Though I would love to read The Mud Man!)

Only I just noticed that Morton had a book out this year called The Lake House, and I feel my resolve beginning to crumble . . . time will tell if I'll be able to resist it.

"The Secret Keeper" by Kate Morton

You know that rule I made for myself in order to keep my blog current and avoid a backlog? The one where I can't start reading a new book until I blog about the previous one? That rule has been torture this past week. Blame it on bad timing. I didn't finish reading this book until the part of the week where so much is crammed into my days between waking and sleeping, I hardly have time to take an extra breath, let alone sit down and write a blog post. I mean, I could have squeezed in some reading here and there (if I'd allowed myself to break my rule), but there was certainly no time for writing. SO I have been bookless, reading nothing, for the first time in memory. And I have hated it.

Last night Sam convinced me it would be OK to break my rule just this once. It is my rule, after all. I suppose he was looking out for my best interests and helping to retain my sanity (and, by extension, his). It was such a relief to crack open a fresh book, even if I only had the time to dip in my little pinkie toe. (Addicted to books much?) And now I have a brief opportunity to write about the previous book, so my rule isn't too broken.

Once upon a time I expressed my opinion that Kate Morton's books are great, big, thick bundles of awesomeness. I now feel obligated to admit my assessment might have been premature. Yes, I loved The House at Riverton; I was sure I would love The Forgotten Garden, but unfortunately I had to settle for Liking It A Lot. Now, somehow, I haven't even read The Distant Hours yet. (What? I bought a hardcover copy because I couldn't wait for the paperback! Obviously I *could* have waited for the paperback, which came out in 2011.) And somehow I completely missed the publication of The Secret Keeper. It flew under my radar until I was Christmas shopping last month and found it at my home away from home, Target. It didn't take me long to decide that someone needed to give it to me for Christmas, and that someone needed to be me.

So, almost a month after Christmas, the story of The Secret Keepers is behind me rather than before me. The riddles are revealed, the mysteries made known, the secrets spilled. Laurel Nicolson, English character actress in her golden years, has unearthed all the answers to the question of who her aging mother was in the years before marrying and having children. And, in keeping with my awesomeness assessment adjustment, I enjoyed this book, but it did not rise above entertainment. Not that I have a problem with entertainment! Fun is one of my most favorite things to have! But it's always a bonus when a book offers something more. The Secret Keeper didn't amaze me or cause me to think new things. At least I didn't feel like I was killing off brain cells, I didn't want to re-write half of it or find any mistakes to correct (that I recall), and I didn't scoff at it. And I did appreciate a good twist towards the end (which I won't reveal, out of the kindness of my heart).

New Kate Morton assessment: bundles of fun. There are worse things!

The Book Club Report, Part I

I have watched another book club die. We finally took this one off life support last month and it slipped away unnoticed. Surely someday we'll be part of a bigger book club again, but for now, my husband and I are in a book club of two. We are currently reading The Magus (which is AWESOME). I'm enjoying the new format, because we end up having tons of mini book-club-moments before we even finish the book.

Speaking of mini-book-club moments, while looking over my Must Blog list, I noticed that at least ten of those books were selections for the recently deceased book club. I'm not sure I could write an entire post on any of them, considering how long it's been since I read each one, so get ready for me to knock out a bunch of reviews at once.

I'll start with the most recent: The Cement Garden, by Ian McEwan. This was my second book by this author (see Atonement), unless I'm forgetting another, but it won't be my last; I find McEwan's writing pretty unimpeachable. (Maybe not as perfect as Kazuo Ishiguro's, but whose is?) This rounded out an unexpected trio of recently-read books set in England's heatwave of 1976 (see here and here), and it was easily the most controversial of the three: the story of four recently-orphaned siblings (without any of the romantic Victorian notions implied in that phrase) and their decisions and behaviors upon finding themselves suddenly autonomous before their concepts of morality were fully formed. It was unnerving how McEwan made me complicit in the siblings' conduct. Things that should have horrified me were made to seem reasonable through these children's eyes.

Under the Skin by Michel Faber. This story was interesting and unique (a female driver preys on male hitchhikers), although I think Faber revealed the mystery behind the main character's actions too soon. If just one line had been cut (the one about the chef), leaving the word "vodsel" enigmatic for a bit longer, I think it would have been a vast improvement. I couldn't really picture what Isserley looked like, either. Somehow her description didn't sound anything like Scarlett Johansson, but I'm still interested in seeing the movie anyway.

The Melting Season by Jami Attenberg, in which a not-so-bright Nebraska girl leaves her crumbling life behind her and makes a run for Las Vegas. I think I first heard of this book in one of those single-paragraph book reviews in a magazine . . . and I think that magazine was Glamour, if that tells you anything. I wish I could re-read that review now, so I could see what drew me to this book. I'm fairly certain it wasn't anything about penile enlargement surgery, anyway.

The Forgotten Garden by Kate Morton.  Unfortunately I found this one disappointing when compared to Morton's The House at Riverton. It's the story of a girl who was raised in Australia; on her twenty-first birthday she's told that she had an unremembered childhood in England. There were plenty of secrets and mysteries, but I think the book suffered from my excessively high expectations (the ones that had me thinking Kate Morton's books are great big thick bundles of awesomeness). That's not to say I didn't enjoy it--it was still pretty great--but I didn't love it the way I thought I would.

Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn. LOVED IT. It's the story of a cad whose wife disappears under suspicious circumstances, and it's really just a thriller without any especially literary characteristics (though I have no complaints about the writing), but it was full of twists and turns and suspense. I still remember with startling clarity the shock of the text message Nick receives four days after Amy vanishes. And there was just NO good place to stop reading this book. No doubt about it--this one reached critical mass, and early on. I've since read (and loved) Flynn's other two books, though this remains my favorite of the three. I'm looking forward to the movie adaptation out in September. Ben Affleck will make a perfect Nick Dunne, if I can get over the way he always seems to be spitting while he's talking.

Stay tuned for Part II of The Book Club Report . . .

"The House at Riverton" by Kate Morton

My friend Nevada recommended this book to me when I mentioned how much I enjoyed The Thirteenth Tale. (Not a book by the same author, but a book that reminded Nevada of this one.) I'd heard of Kate Morton before, as I have The Forgotten Garden on my wish list at paperbackswap (where it has been, and will probably continue to be, for months, as evidently its readers don't want to turn it loose). After reading Riverton I am all the more excited about reading Morton's debut novel. But I will have to wait to read it, just as you will have to wait to hear what I think of it. Sigh.

But about The House at Riverton. What an enthralling story! I was about to tell you it was certainly the most engrossing book I've read all month, but then I realized I read What Dies in Summer this month. Oh well, I suppose we'll have to settle for calling this one of the most engrossing books I've read all month.

My one complaint about the book: I figured out on page 50 who Grace's father was. Grace didn't figure it out herself until page 351. At least she didn't spend all 301 pages contemplating her parentage. That would have been annoying, and I would have wanted to throw this book at her head if I could have figured out some way to do that.

I would be remiss if I did not make it clear that the entire book was certainly not so predictable. In fact, the main mystery--the one that is first introduced on page 14 as a secret that is "still safe"--was not clear to me until the very last chapter. And along the way there were plenty of minor considerations that kept me guessing. All without being fluffy!

My friend Nevada was right--this book was similar to The Thirteenth Tale, but not in a way that would bore the heck out of you if you read one right after the other. It just had the same sense of mystery interweaving past and present in an old English country manor. I was reminded of Atonement just as much, and even a little bit of Romeo and Juliet (because of the whole star-crossed lovers thing, minus the annoying misunderstandings that result in double suicide). My only problem with labeling this as one of my Must Reads is because I wonder if only girls would like it. I had the same feeling about The Thirteenth Tale. Some boys (and not my zombie-loving husband) need to read these books and tell me what they think.