If you want your heartstrings tugged AND you want to learn a little bit about physics and astronomy, pick up Relativity, by Antonia Hayes.
Francis Orme is the last of a long line of oldest boys named Francis Orme. He wasn’t born Francis Orme, but that’s who he is now. Francis lives with his mother and father in their ancestral home, which has been chopped up into 24 gimcrack flats, The Observatory Mansions. Francis always wears white gloves, works as a “living statue,” and collects items for his Museum of Significant Objects.
Whether we belong to a tribe comprised of harried moms, college students, or even librarians, we recognize our "kindred spirits" by dress, behavior, and other things we have in common.
But have you ever wondered about secret societies? Ones where members recognize each other by a secret handshake or door knock or even a cryptic eyebrow quirk. Maybe secret societies possess ancient wisdom that they will share with the world when the time is right.
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Major Pettigrew's Last Stand by Helen Simonson: "Major Ernest Pettigrew (retired) leads a quiet life in the village of St. Mary, England, until his brother's death sparks an unexpected friendship with Mrs. Jasmina Ali, the Pakistani shopkeeper from the village. Drawn together by their shared love of literature and the loss of their respective spouses, the Major and Mrs. Ali soon find their friendship blossoming into something more. But will their relationship survive in a society that considers Ali a foreigner?" (Book summary)
If you liked Major Pettigrew's Last Stand, you may also like these titles for the wit, beauty of the language, and the great characters:
An Available Man by Hilma Wolitzer
A sixty-ish widower misses the companionship of a wife, but has absolutely no desire for dating.
Cutting For Stone by A. Verghese
An Indian nun has an affair with a British surgeon. Their twin sons grow up in Ethiopia, and fall in love with the same woman.
Boynton, Oklahoma: 1917. A stranger comes to town. A nondescript, little man in a bowler hat. Says his name is Nick. Old Nick. He seems drawn to the flaring tempers and anti-foreigner rants that are bubbling up as the United States enters WWI. He can smell the murderous rages and incendiary fear wafting off some of the citizens. For the scared and the angry, he might sidle up behind them and whisper in their ears, "Tell me. Tell me what you want." And then, somehow, their ugly thoughts . . . become reality.
The other day, I picked up a book off the new book display—drawn by the colorful cover and by the title. Mobile Library, by David Whitehouse, has a happy-looking cover, but it is anything but a happy book.
I’ve never really liked horses. The way they side-step with those ginormous, clippy-cloppy hooves, bare those big, big teeth, and roll those huge eyes until the whites show all the way around? Very scary! Yes, they are beautiful, and yes, their shiny coats are like stroking silk. But still. Horses. <shudder>
My fear of horses probably is the reason that I never really wanted to read Westerns. But I quite often looked at Westerns. So many great covers! So many sub-genres! I read Doc, by Mary Doria Russell. And then Epitaph, the sequel. I wanted more, more, more!
I still don’t really like horses, but I have discovered that I really like Westerns! Check out some favorites in my Most-Wanted list.
I only clean my house to loud rock and roll music because a) I know my neighbors love it and b) doesn’t everyone?