Good Books Lately: 12 Recommendations for the Fall

Leaves are turning from green to gold, carved pumpkins have begun appearing on my neighbors’ front steps, and these past few days, I’ve slipped on a fleece vest for my early-morning drop-off at the girls’ school. You know what this means, friends: It’s harvest season, sweater weather and—best of all—the perfect time of year to get cozy with a good book.

One of my favorite things about working at a library is that I get to see hundreds and hundreds of book titles every week. Some books I’ve heard of; many I haven’t. I love seeing what’s new in the world, what people are reading and, as much as I can, checking out various books to get lost in too.

Here are 12 of the best books I’ve read lately. If you’re looking for a new story to unwind with (alongside a pumpkin-spiced beverage of some sort, perhaps!), I hope you enjoy one or more of these recommendations. Happy fall and happy reading!

FICTION

“Apples Never Fall” (Liane Moriarty, 2021) — The last time I checked at my library, there were more than 190 holds on the first copy of this book returned—nearly 200 people want their hands on this! “Apples Never Fall” is bestselling writer Liane Moriarty’s newest novel, and it’s hot, hot, hot. I was lucky to check out a copy, and yes, it’s sizzling.

Moriarty is an excellent storyteller, especially of the suburban-Australia-mystery variety (see also: “The Husband’s Secret,” “Big Little Lies”). As she has in her other work, Moriarty unspools a rich tale of complex, interconnected characters, this time against the backdrop of tennis. I liked the plot twists related to the identity reveal of the mysterious Savannah, but what I most enjoyed were the moments that depicted the relationships between and among the four siblings—probably because I’m one of four siblings myself.

“Malibu Rising” (Taylor Jenkins Reid, 2021) — What first drew me to “Malibu Rising” was its super-cool-blue cover imprinted with come-hither-ish hot-pink and yellow font. Yes, I totally judged this book by its cover, friends, and happily, “Malibu Rising” didn’t disappoint. Like “Apples Never Fall,” “Malibu Rising” is a family drama that also features four siblings. Personally, I found the Riva siblings of “Malibu Rising” more compelling and empathetic than the Delaney clan of “Apples Never Fall,” but maybe that’s just me.

Both these books share quite a few similarities: a motley crew of characters; flashbacks; keeping-you-up-past-your-bedtime cliffhangers. If I had to recommend just one, though, I’d recommend this one, “Malibu Rising.” To me, it simply was a more fun read. It’s a little Hollywood, a little “Surfin’ U.S.A.” and a lot of heart. Through Taylor Jenkins Reid’s writing, I felt the love, pain and strength present in the manifold scenes with Nina, Jay, Hud and Kit, especially in the final climactic one. I was rooting for the Rivas from page one through “The End.”

“The Plot” (Jean Hanff Korelitz, 2021) — Wow, what a story “The Plot” is: clever, chilling and darkly engaging. The protagonist, Jacob Finch Bonner, is a one-hit-wonder writer whose personal and professional lives unravel after he steals a story idea from another writer—if a story idea can, in fact, be stolen, a question that Jean Hanff Korelitz considers throughout her novel.

“The Plot” may be a little too meta at times, and a small criticism I have is that I don’t think the character’s name Jacob—and especially his nickname Jake—suit him. He strikes me more as a Colin, or possibly a Tristan. Just not Jacob (and, again, definitely not Jake). However, Korelitz nails the settings throughout the novel, and there were many different ones including Vermont; upstate New York as well as New York City; Seattle; and Georgia. The sense of place throughout “The Plot” is extraordinarily on-point: I felt as if I were there, over and over again, all these different places I’ve been lucky enough to explore in real life. For that reason alone, I give this book two thumbs up.

“Rodham: A Novel” (Curtis Sittenfeld, 2020) — One of my book-club friends recommended “Rodham” to me, and I couldn’t put it down—I really couldn’t. In this novel, Curtis Sittenfeld imagines how Hillary Clinton’s life might have been without Bill—an ambitious undertaking. The thing is…Sittenfeld’s story is so good, and her writing is so good and well-researched, that I finished this book thinking, “Yes, this is how it would have been.” And that, friends…that’s nothing short of amazing. That’s testament to the writer’s talent.

After finishing “Rodham,” I read Sittenfeld’s first novel, “Prep,” which came out in 2005, 15 years previously. I had read some of her other work, too, but by reading “Prep” so soon after “Rodham,” I could see how Sittenfeld has matured as a writer. For example, she now leans “less is more” in her narrative description, revealing fewer yet more poignant details rather than recounting every observation. Sittenfeld brings her A game to “Rodham.”

“The Thursday Murder Club” (Richard Osman, 2020) — Another book-club friend recommended this book, “The Thursday Murder Club,” and our book club read it several months ago. My friend shared with us that “The Thursday Murder Club” falls into the category of a “cozy mystery,” and I can see why: It’s a total delight with just the right splash of intrigue. The setting is a British retirement community, and the amateur sleuths are four of the retired folks living there: Joyce, Elizabeth, Ron and Ibrahim.

I laughed out loud multiple times while reading this book, and I even sent a copy to my mother-in-law because I thought she’d enjoy it too. Happily, Richard Osman brings back the original members of the Thursday Murder Club with his new cozy mystery, “The Man Who Died Twice,” which was published just a few weeks ago. I highly recommend Osman’s books.

Now for my nonfiction recommendations…

NONFICTION

“The Premonition: A Pandemic Story” (Michael Lewis, 2021) — This book was published in the spring, and all summer long, patrons at my library kept requesting and checking out all our copies. Finally, it was my turn, and this true story blew me away. Lewis shows us how the Covid-19 crisis came to be through the stories of a variety of people, from a 13-year-old girl working on a science-fair project to the new public health office for Santa Barbara County to a long-term, often-overlooked government employee who understands the problems at hand before those in leadership positions do.

These stories add the breadth, depth and complexity of humanity to the 18-months-in saga of the novel coronavirus in a way that newspaper headlines, podcasts and social media posts simply can’t.

“Working Stiff: Two Years, 262 Bodies, and the Making of a Medical Examiner” (Judy Melinek, M.D., and T.J. Mitchell, 2014) — One of my library colleagues thought I’d enjoy this book, and she was right (thanks, Michelle!). “Working Stiff” is an interesting, engaging memoir that provides an inside-scoop look at life as a forensic pathologist in the New York City Office of Chief Medical Examiner. Dr. Melinek also shares how events from her personal life, such as (sadly) her father’s suicide when she was 13 and becoming a parent herself, affect her professional perspective on life and death.

Dr. Melinek’s accounts of working on the Ground Zero remains from the 9/11 terrorist attacks are particularly moving. I also was struck by a simple yet poetic passage early in this book: “Once I became an eyewitness to death, I found that nearly every unexpected fatality I investigated was either the result of something dangerously mundane, or of something predictably hazardous. So don’t jaywalk. Wear your seat belt … Better yet, stay out of your car and get some exercise … Guns put holes in people. Drugs are bad … Staying alive, as it turns out, is mostly common sense.” If you liked “Bones,” then you’ll love “Working Stiff.”

“Zero Fail: The Rise and Fall of the Secret Service” (Carol D. Leonnig, 2021) — A hefty, well-researched and at times gossipy look at the men and women who protect the president and other VIP’s. I’ve long known about JFK’s and Bill Clinton’s extramarital affairs, but it was eye-opening to read about how their private-life indiscretions concerned their Secret Service protectors, who rarely conducted background checks on the (many) other women in these presidents’ lives. The book begins in 1962 Buffalo, N.Y., when President John F. Kennedy attends a Polish heritage parade and ends more than 500 pages later with a chapter entitled “Sliding Backward: The Trump Years (2016-2021).”

Now, did I read all 500+ pages? Not gonna lie, friends: No, I didn’t. But yes, I did read all the juicy parts. 😉

And what I’m currently reading…

ON MY NIGHTSTAND

“Daddy: Stories” (Emma Cline, 2020) — On an afternoon walk this past weekend, my 6-year-old daughter found a signed copy of this book in our nearest Little Free Library. I love signed copies of books, so this was an especially fun find. I’m only a couple of stories in, but “Daddy: Stories” has the feel of the 2018 “You Think It, I’ll Say It” short-story collection by Curtis Sittenfeld.

“Harlem Shuffle” (Colson Whitehead, 2021) — “Harlem Shuffle” is another hot, hot, hot title at my library now, and I just (finally!) checked out my own copy. The setting is 1960s New York City, the protagonist Ray Carney is relatable and empathetic, and the voice…Whitehead’s voice in telling this story just resonates, friends.

“Kindred” (Octavia E. Butler, 1979) — “Kindred” is my book club’s pick this month, and I need to finish it before we meet again (soon!). This is a time-travel story, which isn’t a genre I read much (if ever) on my own. I’m so glad my book-club friends recommended it, though, because it’s wonderful (and important) to open ourselves up to new stories, themes, ways of understanding the world.

“Wonder” (R.J. Palacio, 2012) — Yes, I’m about a decade late to the phenomenon that is “Wonder,” the New York Times bestseller for 318 weeks (and counting) now. Thanks to my 6-year-old, though, I’ve joined the bandwagon. We’ve been reading this book together, and it pulls at my heartstrings nonstop.

So tell me…what good books have you read lately?

❤

Photo credit: Pixabay

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Like what you just read? Then check out Melissa Leddy’s e-books on Amazon.com. Short fiction and creative nonfiction writing that’s engaging, witty and from the heart.

Yes, I Know Where the Fake Mustaches Are

I was rubbing lotion over my legs—I’d just shaved for the first time in, well, quite a while—when Stanton poked his head into the bathroom. Startled, I nearly choked on the mouthwash I was simultaneously “vigorously swishing between teeth for one minute.” (This is what multitasking looks like at 8 a.m. on a Wednesday, amirite?)

“Hey, what’s our Amazon password?” Stanton asked. “Oh, sorry…not a good time.”

I was only halfway into the full minute of vigorous swishing, so I nodded. Correct: not a good time.

“Mommy!” Now Anna swiveled around Stanton. “Do you know where the fake mustaches are?”

Out of nowhere, Grace popped into view. “We need them for a game we’re playing.”

Right. Of course.

I finished wiping my lotion-y hands over my legs. Spat out the mouthwash into the sink. Looked at the faces of the three people I loved most in this world. “Guys…can you give me a minute?”

They could, they said. The bathroom door clicked shut.

Amazon passwords. Fake mustaches. All while you’re attempting to get dressed, get to work on time. You can’t make this stuff up, friends.

For Halloween this year, the girls are dressing up as Mario (Anna) and Luigi (Grace). This is why we currently have a 12-pack of fake mustaches in the house, as well as new overalls and red and green baseball caps.

“I can’t wait to trick-or-treat,” the girls have been saying. Already, they’re thinking about all the candy they’ll amass.

Stanton usually travels one week every month for work, and this month, he needs to be out of town a bit longer than usual right before Halloween. I was looking at our family calendar, piecing together the puzzle of work and life these next few weeks. The girls’ school has a Halloween-weekend event, and although I was trying to make it work alongside Stanton’s travel and my work schedule…

“I don’t think we can do it,” I shared with a friend.

My friend shrugged. “Then don’t do it.”

Don’t do it. Such a simple, beautiful solution. I loved it…and I wondered why it hadn’t occurred to me earlier.

Sometimes the healthiest, kindest thing we can do for ourselves and our families is say no. Or not now. We’re not superheroes (except, maybe, on October 31) who can put together all the puzzles all the time.

“Do you know where the fake mustaches are?”

Soon after the school year started, Grace’s fourth-grade teacher talked with the class about September 11. The teacher invited the class to interview grown-ups they knew about where they’d been that fateful day. One evening, when Grace was chatting with my mom on the phone, Grace asked about her memories of 9/11 (a conversation I didn’t overhear because I was making dinner).

Later, I was rummaging through the girls’ backpacks when a piece of loose-leaf paper fluttered out of Grace’s. In pencil across the top of the paper Grace had printed, “Sept. 11, 2001 Intervouw: Grandma.”

I began reading my daughter’s neat, 10-year-old handwriting: “It was a butiful day and I was takeing my class inside from reccess.” Grace went on to describe how my mom, an elementary-school teacher, learned about the terrorist attacks from a TV in the school library. Grace ended her nonfiction piece by writing, “There was a clip of the passengers calling there family and saying, ‘I don’t know woht is happening, but I love you.”

I read that last sentence, and I began crying, friends. I cried because I’ve seen those video clips, and they’re heartbreaking. I cried because I can understand the urgency of letting family know, before you can’t any longer, “I love you.”

That day, I also had tears in my eyes because I never knew what September 11 was like for my mom. For 20 years, I never asked my mom where she was or what she was doing that day. It took my daughter’s schoolwork for me to find out.

Why?

I thought about it, and I think a lot of the time, I think of my mom as, simply, my mom. I think of her as a person who will always be there for me. I call my mom’s phone, she answers. I ask her if she can come help with the girls, she does. Selfishly, I don’t often think of my mom as a person with experiences that don’t include me, a person with her own stories to tell, her own life.

A lot of us probably take our parents, and especially our moms, for granted in this way. When we’re young (and even not so young), our moms help us figure out the puzzle pieces of our lives. They get us where we need to go even as they juggle millions of other things all at once. They know where the fake mustaches are.

You know, I may have been wrong before. Moms just may be superheroes after all.

One day recently, I ran out to restock on some groceries before going to pick the girls up from school. I carried the bags of food into the house, quickly popped the milk, yogurt and deli meat into the fridge. Stanton walked out of his home office, joined me in the kitchen.

“Hey, Mel,” he said. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

“Hey, honey…thank you for what?”

Stanton gestured to the groceries. “For going to the store. Making sure we have stuff we need. Going to get the girls.”

I appreciated his gratitude, friends…and I also was a little surprised. We’ve been married for 13 years now. Have had children for 10. “Stan, I’ve always done this,” I said.

Stanton shrugged. “I know, but now that I’m home more, I see it’s a lot.”

Part of me continued to be a little (a lot?) surprised. You wake up, and there’s food in the kitchen for you to eat. There’s soap at the sinks, clean towels in the bathrooms. There are costumes at Halloween, candles in the cupboard for every birthday, the Amazon password scribbled on the back of the calendar. Part of me didn’t understand how you wouldn’t see these things all along.

The other part of me, though—the part that loves Stanton very much, and appreciates that many kind things he’s done for me—decided to take his words at face value. “You’re welcome,” I said.

❤

“When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know, none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge—they were all messages of love. If you look for it, I’ve got a sneaky feeling you’ll find that love actually is all around.” —Love Actually

Photo credit: Pixabay

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Like what you just read? Then check out Melissa Leddy’s e-books on Amazon.com. Short fiction and creative nonfiction writing that’s engaging, witty and from the heart.

Can I Tell You Something?

Post-shower, I slid open the door to my closet. My gaze, in turn, slid downward. There I saw, scattered across the top of the storage bin on the floor, broken pieces of—I squinted—what, exactly?

It looked like white plastic. But from what, and where? I didn’t know, and because I was running late, I didn’t stop to care. I grabbed one of my many easy-care T-shirt dresses, threw it on and headed out.

The next day, again, I opened the closet door. More broken pieces of plastic lay atop the storage bin and on the hardwood floor. I peered down at the mess, perplexed. Then I looked up. Gasped.

The shelf across the top of the closet was buckling under the weight of piled-high clothes, photo albums and pandemic-era puzzles. Lots and lots of puzzles. The shelf was actively teetering toward collapse.

Jumping up, I began pulling the puzzles off the shelf. Then the photo albums, and the clothes. I fixed the shelf—well, not really fixed it, but readjusted it so that it was stable. It would be (yet another) home-improvement project we’d save for another day.

Mission (somewhat) accomplished.

I turned back toward the bedroom. Everything I’d just removed from the closet now lay like a pyramid on the bed. What to do with everything?

I started sifting through the clothes. My hands ran over a pair of size 4 denim shorts. It had been years and years since my pants size was in the single digits, and I was 100 percent confident there was no going back. No going back, friends. Life’s too short, and Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food is too good.

I tossed the shorts to the side. I’d donate them.

Soon after, I found a pair of maternity jeans. I last gave birth in 2015, six and a half years ago. However…and yes, I’m a little embarrassed to admit this…there have been times in the past couple of years when I’ve pulled on these super comfy jeans.

Still. There has to be a happy medium between size 4, and wearing maternity jeans six and a half years postpartum.

😉

I’d donate the jeans too. In the meantime, I stuffed the photo albums and puzzles into storage containers under the bed.

Ultimately, I brought a large bag of no-longer-needed clothes to a local donation bin. Even though I felt a pang of mourning for my old size-4 self (and an even bigger pang for those stretchy-waistband-ed maternity jeans), I also felt a sense of peace due to decluttering. Only after my closet literally fell apart did I acknowledge what I actually needed from it.

There has to be a happy medium between size 4, and wearing maternity jeans six and a half years postpartum.

There have been times in my life when things have fallen apart, and only then did I experience clarity, humility, calm and growth. Maybe this has been true for you, too, friends.

Most recently, I was supposed to begin a freelance editing project, and then the project got postponed. I recognize these things happen; I understood. This would have been my first project in a while, though, and I’d been so excited about it.

So I was working an evening shift at my part-time library job. Midway through, I went outside for my break. I sat at a picnic table, the light from the nearby streetlamp casting shadows on the red-brick sidewalk, the early-autumn air crisp on my skin. I loved my library job, loved the library, loved the people I worked with. Part of me wondered, though…would I ever write and edit professionally again too? Because I loved that work too. Would it ever happen again?

I sighed. Checked my email. And saw in my inbox a note that brought a tear to my eye.

Somebody for whom I’d freelanced previously had very kindly referred me to a communications professional in need of freelance help for the next few months. This person emailed to ask if I’d be interested, if we could chat more, if it might work out.

Yes, yes, yes, I emailed back. A couple of days later, the two of us “met” over Zoom and discussed the work (writing newsletters and press releases). I had shared that I work part-time at a library, usually in the evenings and on weekends, and they asked if I’d be OK working during the daytime for them, about 20 hours per week.

“Yes,” I said, smiling. (Someday, I’d love if the majority of my work hours coincided with the girls’ school-year schedule—until then, we’ll grind it out, make it work.) Soon after, we agreed it would be a great fit for everyone involved.

I’m so excited about my new project, which begins soon. And more than anything, I’m so grateful.

Grateful for the referral…grateful for the new opportunity…grateful that the moment in which I was wondering, “Have things passed me by?” was answered with, “Hold on. Just hold on.”

Yesterday was Picture Day at the girls’ school. Grace, Anna and I all overslept (it had been a chaotic few days, and Stanton didn’t have the heart to rustle us awake). I so appreciated the extra rest, and it was a bit of a rush yesterday morning.

As I scarfed down breakfast, I filled out the girls’ picture-order forms. We arrived at school just as the bell was ringing, at which point we realized we’d forgotten the girls’ water bottles at home.

“Don’t worry, Mom,” Anna said. “Miss Sarah has extra.” Miss Sarah is the wonderful lunch lady whose meals, my daughters often tell me, taste better than mine. (No hard feelings, Miss Sarah. No hard feelings.)

“OK, please tell Miss Sarah, ‘Thank you,'” I said.

The girls said they’d say, too, that their mom slept in and forgot.

I closed my eyes. Great.

Yes, there are moments of chaos, uncertainty, parts of our homes literally falling apart. Among these moments, too, are flashes of love, faith and fortitude that spur us forward, inspire us on. Time and again—time and again—I am amazed by how so often, the flashes are little things.

Like…

Wednesday evening, after work and school, playing basketball in the driveway with Grace. When I was younger, playing the same game in the backyard with my Dad, he jokingly nicknamed me “Brick.” I’d throw the ball so hard, it would bang against the backboard, brick-like. Sometimes it’d go in.

For old times’ sake, I nicknamed Grace “Brick Junior.” “Watch out,” I told Grace, dribbling around her Wednesday evening. “Here comes The Original Brick.”

As usual, I threw the ball too hard. It banged off the backboard; Grace grabbed the rebound.

“Now you watch out,” she trash-talked back, going for a layup. Swoosh. “Brick Junior.”

I smiled, hugged her.

Little things.

“Can I tell you something?” Anna asked me later that night.

Yes, I replied. Yes.

I know you’ve seen me running around, and frazzled, and fixing falling-apart things. But I’m here now. I’ll be here as long as you need me.

Tell me anything.

❤

Photo credit: Pixabay

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Like what you just read? Then check out Melissa Leddy’s e-books on Amazon.com. Short fiction and creative nonfiction writing that’s engaging, witty and from the heart.