In this romantic comedy novelette, author Lorene Haupt poses some scenarios that will whet the appetites of women who remember the guy that got away. While introducing us to a romantic story that captivates our interest, Haupt weaves in fun pop-culture references, from Pretty in Pink to Pearl Jam. She also broaches some unexpected topics such as diabetes, Weight Watchers, Facebook, and—ahem—Chlamydia.

Our heroine, Elise, has been married to a reliable if boring man for 13 years, but she is not unhappy. He married her when she was considerably overweight, and she has remained so with no complaint from him for the duration of their marriage. They discussed children unenthusiastically, but at the point when she became serious about the subject, fertility problems prevented further discussion.

Spending some time on Facebook, she connects with a man from her past—one with whom she had an uncharacteristically intimate encounter shortly after they finished high school. Elise doesn’t think too much about their innocent online flirtation--after all, he's married too and lives on the other side of the country. The intimacy they experienced might have been due to nothing more than too many tequila shots. She also has other issues to deal with—diabetes for one, and getting the weight off to preserve her health; and what with the fertility problems, her health is her major concern now.

Author Haupt keeps the plot humming to the point where several plot lines converge. At the point Elise finally gets her health back to normal, the rest of her life spins out of control. She must then make some decisions that will change her life completely. What follows could be a fantasy or a nightmare, but Elise handles the situation the way a heroine should: amusing us every step of the way.

Originally published in 1919, Night and Day contrasts the daily lives of four major characters while examining the relationships between love, marriage, happiness, and success. Like Virginia Woolf's first novel The Voyage Out, Night and Day is a more traditional narrative than her later novels. Unlike her first novel, however, Night and Day relies much more on its characters' internal struggles to push the its plot forward. What results is a character study of a very quiet group of people who are actually in the throes of deep anxiety and indecision.

It is difficult to immediately come to a conclusion about this novel. The Voyage Out ends with a forceful impact upon your emotions that leaves you reeling. Night and Day, by contrast, ends quite simply and lets you put down the book and go about your day. Upon reflection, however, it has many precious, seemingly innocuous moments that imprint on your memory. Many of these moments involve solitary musings of one of the characters. Upon further reflection, I became irritated with the two of the major characters (Ralph Denham and Katharine Hilbery) and felt a severe lack of exposition into two more interesting characters (Mary Datchet and Mrs. Hilbery).

Perhaps the title--a contrast in itself--could explain the duality of both the novel and one's reaction to it. Reading reviews of other readers hardly gives insight into what one's own reaction will be. I mentioned before that Amazon is a good source of reviews. However, Goodreads is becoming an excellent resource, outrunning Amazon many times in number and quality of reviews. For Night and Day in particular, one reviewer will extol the many virtues of the book, proclaiming it her favorite Woolf novel, and the next will denounce it, saying that if Woolf had stopped here, no one would know who she is today. Perhaps you must figure this one for yourself.

Wives and Daughters was first published as a serial from August 1864 to January 1866 in the Cornhill Magazine. The story revolves around Molly Gibson, the only daughter of a widowed doctor living in an English town in the 1830s.

Molly's friends and acquaintances make up all we know of this quaint, country town. She is also part of a cast of four young people whose romantic interactions are portrayed with striking realism. We do not see love at first sight or passionate attachment that, pursued faithfully, makes up a happy ending. We see arbitrary and consuming love turned into disillusionment. This is contrasted with mature and deeper love that grows slowly and selflessly. The latter is not such an exciting read as the former, but it gives a more lingering impact and marks Gaskell as a mature and thought-provoking novelist rather than a sentimentalist.

While Gaskell enjoyed portraying romantic relationships in her novels, she was also intensely interested in social themes. Wives and Daughters doesn't include the very poor social strata that was in North and South, however economic troubles do visit several major characters. In it's sheer number of social themes and unique characters, Wives and Daughters bears a strong resemblance to Eliot's Middlemarch. It wouldn't be surprising if Eliot were influenced by Gaskell, as Middlemarch came seven years later.

When Gaskell died suddenly in 1865, Wives and Daughters was not quite complete. Her editor, Frederick Greenwood, wrote an appended section describing what Gaskell had planned for the remaining chapters in her notes. There are no surprises for us here, but it would have been nice to read it in her own words. The last scene we are left with, however, perseveres partly because it was in fact the last. In a way, the image of a young gentleman standing on a sidewalk in the rain is much more enduring than several pages of lovers' confessions and professions. While I lament that Gaskell was taken at the young age of 55, I will venture to say that I in fact prefer the ending this way. There is an intriguing and freeing quality to things left unsaid and loose ends left untied.

First published in 1860, The Mill on the Floss is George Eliot's second full length novel. Considered the most autobiographical of her work, it is the story of free-spirited Maggie Tulliver and her stern brother Tom.

Maggie as a child is a beautiful character; Eliot portrays the workings of her mind so truthfully and compellingly. She is full of fiery defiance and lives for the moment, whether in her need for Tom's affection or full of bitter regret after she realizes the consequences of her actions. One of the best illustrations of Maggie's ornery personality is when, after being told since she was young that her looks and behavior are that of a gypsy, she decides to run away and live with "her people". However, when she actually gets her wish and finds herself among the gypsies with no way to get home, it slowly dawns on her that she perhaps acted too precipitously.

Such stories from Maggie's childhood prepare us for the challenges she will face as she grows older. Family troubles cause both Maggie and Tom to take on heavy responsibilities at an early age, turning grown Maggie into a shadow of her former self interspersed with flashes of emotion she can't contain. Alongside their family drama we find several love stories intertwined. With these intertwined stories Eliot explores the themes of emotion over duty, passion over propriety. What if the one you desire is the last person who will make you happy? What place does obligation take in questions of the heart? What place does love of a family member take when conflicted with the love of a lover?

As in her other novels, Eliot spends much introductory time on her main characters, many minor characters and their histories. It is not until halfway through the story that all the elements start to fall together. At this point, The Mill on the Floss is hard to put down--the further into the story you get, the less sure you are of Maggie's fate, the more engrossing her story becomes. These are the great novels, which leave you as conflicted and confused as the characters about which you are reading.

Some readers are dissatisfied with the ending, but perhaps, in retrospect, Eliot could have done it no other way. There is a great debate about this book on C19 forum entitled "The Mill on the Floss and the cult of imperfection"--it is for those who prefer The Mill on the Floss to Middlemarch, Mansfield Park to Pride and Prejudice, George Eliot to Jane Austen. Be forewarned that the ending and important details of the novel are discussed in great detail here, so save this discussion for when you have finished reading. But I reference it because it is a much deeper analyzation than I can go into in this post, and it illustrates the conflicting impressions Eliot inspires through this beautiful and singular work.

Legends of Vancouver was originally published around 1910 as a series of newspaper articles based on stories related by Pauline Johnson's friend, Chief Joe Capilano of the Squamish people. It is the first collection of native legends retold by a native artist and has become a classic of Canadian literature.

Johnson was born on the Six Nations Indian Reserve to a Mohawk father and an English mother. Being of both native and "white" cultures, Johnson has an interesting insight to the native legends she retells. She serves as an appropriate guide to the sometimes obscure meanings that the stories are trying to convey. As all of the legends originated long before European colonization, it would be difficult to understand the way of life and accompanying values of the native peoples in the stories without assistance. For example, in "The Lure of Stanley Park" Johnson tells us that the natives of the Vancouver area held trees in high esteem. "[God] turns kindly people, the humane, sympathetic, charitable, loving people into trees, so that after death they may go on forever benefiting all mankind." With this in mind, this little tale becomes a meaningful allegory of good and evil and the power of a benevolent heart.

Johnson's point of view also brings insight to "Deep Waters", her retelling of a Squamish deluge legend. Particularly with this retelling, it is clear how she gives these legends the life and meaning that the ancient creators intended. She begins briefly with an Iroquois deluge legend. The Squamish legend then, by contrast, achieves a profound significance in its portrayal of life and death and the value of both. While the whole collection of legends is worth a read, "Deep Waters" stands out from the rest as the most beautiful and moving and worthy of passing on.

The Song of the Lark was Cather's third novel. Written between O Pioneers! and My Antonia, it is very different from those novels for which Cather is better known. The story is set among sand hills and canyons, big crowded cities and harmonious music. It is the story of the making of an artist, from her humble beginnings in Moonstone, Colorado to the big time singing operas in New York. It is a story in three parts.

Part one: A young, talented girl from an immigrant family grows up in a rural town. Those familiar with Cather's more famous works will feel right at home with Thea Kronberg as a young girl surrounded by her large Swedish family, German music teacher with a taste for booze, all-American sweetheart, and Mexican musical compatriots.

Parts two and three break with Cather's traditional fare to follow Thea in search of musical knowledge and finally, as the star of the New York opera scene. If the story were simply Thea's struggles inner and outer during her rise to fame, it would have been tiresome from the start. For all her imagination and talent, Thea is not entirely likable. However we are provided with a colorful cast of supporting characters that carry us through the story. We start and end with supporting characters--not Thea--and it is through them that we find a reason for empathy. We are in fact her audience even while reading her story.

If you're searching for Cather's famous prairie stories, you should probably move on and come back to The Song of the Lark when in a more introspective mood. However, if you're looking for the making of an artist as she realizes her talent and struggles to find herself and her place in the limelight, this one's for you.

A couple of notes:
- The book cover is The Song of the Lark by Jules Breton, a painting which Thea sees and admires at a museum in Chicago.
- I believe there are some misconceptions about this novel arising from the fact that not many people have actually read it. First, this book is regularly billed as the second in Cather's "Prairie Trilogy". There is little if any prairie in this novel. Second, this novel also is billed as Cather's most autobiographical. I find this very hard to believe. The story is so entirely musical and Thea so self absorbed, that I do not believe Cather saw herself in her at all. If you want an autobiographical novel, read My Antonia which is based on short stories Cather wrote about growing up on the prairie in Nebraska.

In the same way that reading Gone With the Wind brings to mind War and Peace, reading The Scarlet Pimpernel reminds the reader of A Tale of Two Cities. Margaret Mitchell may not have been another Leo Tolstoy, and Baroness Orczy may not be the equal of Charles Dickens, and yet the reader can still enjoy their novels as much as one did the bona fide classics (and perhaps even more, as the non-classics are admittedly easier to read than their classic counterparts.) The action of The Scarlet Pimpernel takes place in the same two cities as A Tale of Two Cities, (Paris and London) and reflects the same time frame--the Reign of Terror that followed the French Revolution. In both books, women knitted while they watched the Guillotine do its macabre work, and men assumed dual identities to save the lives of people who sometimes were guilty of no more than belonging to the class of French "Aristos".

In this first novel (but third in chronological order) of the Scarlet Pimpernel series, the question foremost in the reader's mind is "Who is the Scarlet Pimpernel?" We do know that he is a master of disguise, and that he signs his name with a likeness of the small red flower from which he derives his name. The plot involves an unintended betrayal by a loved one, a desperate flight into France to save more Aristos, and a daring charade to mislead an unscrupulous French henchman hot on the Pimpernel's trail. To tell more would be to give away some of the delights of this novel.

The Scarlet Pimpernel is a fast-paced and easy read, with an adequate, but not overwhelming, amount of suspense. Some have suggested that this novel is a precursor to the Superhero genre of Superman, Spiderman and Batman. There may be some similarities here, but significant dissimilarities exist. The three superheroes each have uniforms that define their alter-egos. The Scarlet Pimpernel is effective because no one recognizes his alter ego. He might perhaps show up as an old woman or a hunchback or an unsavory trader. He is effective because he can meet a French official face to face and get past without the official realizing who he is or what he is doing.

Finishing this book will motivate the reader to seek out further episodes, and to discover what mysteries will be uncovered now that the Scarlet Pimpernel's identity and methods have been revealed. Please check back here for more books to come in the Scarlet Pimpernel series.

First published in 1915, The Voyage Out is Virginia Woolf's first novel.  It begins as Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose embark on a sea voyage for South America. Throughout their voyage and once they reach land there are many characters that float in and out of the text. Indeed, one is not sure who the main characters are until halfway through the novel. Clarissa and Richard Dalloway, the main characters of Woolf's later novel Mrs. Dalloway, even make an appearance.

Once reaching land, Mrs. Ambrose along with her niece, Rachel, explore the environs and make friends with other tourists--notably with two young men, Hewet and Hirst. Here these four friends form several intertwining and interesting relationships that guide us through the rest of the story.

Woolf's style is striking in the almost exclusive use of dialog interspersed with short, vivid descriptions of the characters' inner thoughts. Through this innovative style she is able to communicate, among many other things, a candid and realistic portrayal of the act of falling in love and all emotions that come along with it--heartbreak and loss, desire and contentment, longing and questioning, quiet happiness and quiet despair.

Several interesting details in the novel will strike the modern reader, such as the almost total absence of interaction with the natives. Geographically, the location is supposed to be near the Amazon river system, but Woolf has imagined an Amazon where the natives speak a mix of Spanish and French, the mountains rise majestically out of the sea, and one lights the fire after dinner. While Woolf can easily be criticized for neglecting to research the technical details and for writing only about the upper classes and their manias, to dwell on these issues would be entirely beside the point. E. M. Forster put it best when he described The Voyage Out as "...a strange, tragic, inspired book whose scene is a South America not found on any map and reached by a boat which would not float on any sea, an America whose spiritual boundaries touch Xanadu and Atlantis." ('The Novels of Virginia Woolf', New Criterion, April 1926, 277.)

On a personal note, I'd like to say that my only previous experience with Woolf was reading Mrs. Dalloway for a class in college. Perhaps one must grow into reading Woolf, because I admit I remember almost nothing of this book except that it was boring and depressing. I picked up The Voyage Out expecting much of the same, but how wrong I was! This book is beautiful, one that you will remember long after you read it. I recommend it highly--but not too highly, as making your own discovery of its worth is part of the charm.

Beatrice Palmer could never envision what that fateful train trip from Boston to San Francisco would engender; however, as a grandmother, she had already experienced her share of pain and sorrow, although much joy had come to her life as well. It was a long train trip in the late 1880's; thus one got to know one's fellow travelers in a way similar to shipboard interactions. Beatrice struck up a "trainboard" friendship with Henry Johnson. One could not call it a romance, but perhaps the next best thing.

Henry was traveling from the Perkins Institute (the famous school that trained Helen Keller) in Boston to San Francisco, where he would teach adults in a new program at the San Francisco School for the Blind. Formerly, only children had been taught how to manage in a sighted world, but as the Civil War had done its part to return many soldiers to their homes sightless, a demand for this type of adult education was ever-growing. Henry knew this because he was one of those soldiers who came home blind.

Beatrice was fascinated with the precise manner in which Henry managed his life, read Braille, and even beat her at chess. She was an avid student as he taught her the secrets of "writing" in Braille. As a widow, Beatrice was uncertain whether her affinity for Henry sprung from admiration or romantic feeling, but she was willing to let things go where they might, since her primary desire was the friendship of a kindred intellect.

On arrival in San Francisco, the idyllic trip ends when Beatrice discovers some uncomfortable truths about Henry's past. While Henry, Beatrice and the latter's family come to grips with their shocking discovery, they spend a Christmas together and try to act like a family, even if it is a most unusual one.

Kate Halleron is an excellent writer who demonstrates not only a facility for the English language but also a gripping storytelling talent. Like Portrait of the Past which is the prequel to this book, Halleron has come up with a truly unique situation and made it believable and entertaining. I was especially intrigued with the detail she used to describe the methods used by a blind person to handle everyday tasks and the process by which Braille is written.

'You speak like a heroine,' said Montoni, contemptuously; 'we shall see whether you can suffer like one.' – The Mysteries of Udolpho by Ann Radcliffe, Volume III, Chapter V

Eighteenth-century Gothic novels, such as those consumed so avidly by Catherine Morland and Isabella Thorpe (and affectionately parodied by their creator) in Jane Austen's novel Northanger Abbey, are perhaps an acquired taste. We found it an easy one to acquire, because they are just so much darned fun. There are villains, obvious ones such as the evil Montoni and not-so-obvious such as his wife, whose pride and shallow midlife neuroses not only made poor Emily St. Aubert miserable but led to her own destruction; there are heroes such as the rather wet, er, brave Chevalier Valancourt; there are fair maidens abounding, not only the lovely and talented picture of perfection Emily, but her friend Blanche de Villefort; there is even comedy in the silly domestics such as Annette and Dorothee.

We can (and do) laugh at Emily for fainting at every opportunity, but she really does get to have some thrilling adventures, and everything comes out perfectly at the end. One really cannot blame Catherine Morland for wanting an adventure of her own so much that she made one up, especially since circumstances were so obligingly similar to those in her favorite novel. Like many young ladies today who take their sparkly vampire stories just a little too seriously, Catherine loved The Mysteries of Udolpho not wisely but too well, and learned a lesson from the experience. In Nachtstürm Castle, a novella sequel to Northanger Abbey, Catherine is married, settled, and ready for and deserving of a proper heroine’s adventure.

As the story begins, the newlywed Tilneys prepare for a trip to the Continent, following the same path traveled by Emily St. Aubert in Udolpho. Mr. Tilney, we learn, has continued his delightfully teasing ways, even going so far as to dress as a gypsy and deliver a “fortune” to his bride. Catherine sees through the deception, even as she enjoys it (as does the reader).

In Paris, an encounter with a real gypsy, as well as a real Englishman, sends the Tilneys to Nachstürm Castle, high in the Alps and as windswept and mysterious as any heroine could wish. A series of strange occurrences there are not as confusing to Catherine as one might expect, as she assumes, not unnaturally, that Henry has planned the whole thing for her enjoyment. Henry, meanwhile, has some adventures of his own, and the reader cannot be so sanguine as to whether our heroes will prevail. Who is the mysterious Donna Fortuna, whose portrait looks so much like Catherine? What is the mystery surrounding Young Will, whom everyone says is the former master’s natural child, but who claims to be the legitimate heir? And what is up with the oh-so-creepy Edric, steward of Nachtstürm?

Like the P&P sequel, Mr. Darcy, Vampyre, Nachtstürm Castle is an homage to the Gothic novels, with all the expected conventions: a half-ruined castle, creepy servants, a mystery to solve, and a touch of romance. Ms. Snyder, clearly as well-read as her heroine, skillfully uses archaic spellings, language, and structural conventions, which serve to increase the charm of the work; we were particularly fond of the chapter subheadings, which have a truly 18th-century ring to them. Like the original Gothics, there are occasional asides for descriptions of picturesque landscape, and digressions into didactic commentary for the benefit of the reader. Those familiar with the original Gothics, and who appreciate the fun of them, will get a few giggles out of these digressions.

Many Austen paraliterature writers pander to the Darcy fans, turning the phlegmatic and frankly rather cranky Darcy into a brooding action hero, shooting rapists and becoming a ninja warrior or a distinguished statesman and whatnot; we were delighted that for once our own favorite Austen hero, Henry Tilney, has been elevated to truly heroic proportions, all the many capes of his great coat flying as he performs his own stunts. If even the most hardened Darcy-lover doesn’t swoon at least a little bit over ActionHero!Henry, then you are just made of stone and that is all there is to it.

While Nachtstürm Castle is at times fantastic and other-worldly, it never takes itself too seriously; like the novel which inspired it, it is delivered very much tongue-in-cheek, and engages to entertain the reader not only with a series of thrills but with a knowing, literate humor, and fortunately without the cringe-inducing earnestness of much Austen paraliterature. If you love Northanger Abbey and its adorable heroine and witty hero, we think you will find Nachtstürm Castle to be a very nice story indeed

Anyone who reads even a little about literature and probably everyone who is a fan of mysteries is familiar with the name Hercule Poirot. Outside of Sherlock Holmes and Philip Marlowe, he is the best-known detective in the history of the genre.

In this first novel by Agatha Christie, published in 1920, she introduces the inimitable Poirot, who would go on to appear in 33 Christie novels and 54 short stories. In fact, Christie spent so much time with Poirot that she began to think of him as "insufferable" and "an ego-centric creep."

At first read, Poirot appears to have more in common with Inspector Clouseau than Holmes or Marlowe notwithstanding the fact that Poirot has gained the trust and the ear of Scotland Yard. However, as his longtime friend and fellow investigator, Arthur Hastings, confides, "there is method to his madness," perhaps indicating that Poirot's bumbling could be a clever act.

Poirot tells Hastings, "We must be so intelligent that he [the killer] does not suspect us of being intelligent at all." In a clever passage where Hastings attempts to analyze this advice, Christie paints Hastings as the one who does not realize that Poirot thinks Hastings is the ideal one to impress others with his lack of intelligence.

The plot of The Mysterious Affair at Styles deals with a straightforward case of an old woman poisoned with strychnine for the obvious reason: her money. Nothing is obvious, however, in the way Christie handles a plot. The story spirals round and round, leading the reader in one direction, then another, convincing the reader that first one character, then another is the guilty party. By Christie's own admission, while writing a novel, even she doesn't know who is the guilty party. She waits till the end to decide. And a clever ending it is, as she explains convincingly why the guilty party would go to the trouble to frame himself.

Think of this novel as a page-turner but not a beach read. The reader has to pay attention and backtrack often to keep up with the clues, Poirot's analysis of those clues, and Hastings' analysis of Poirot. Backtracking, however, is not laborious, but rather fun, and the ending, satisfying.

Poirot's most famous adventure, Murder on the Orient Express would appear in 1934. It was made into an immensely successful 1974 movie starring Albert Finney. Poirot appears on the small screen in a Hugo Award winning series, aptly named "Agatha Christie's Poirot." The series has been running on British television since 1989. Thus far, 11 seasons have been released on DVD.

Christie killed Poirot in Curtain written in 1935. Hoowever, Christie had the good sense not to publish the novel until 1975, when she realized that she could not keep up with her writing the way she once did. Upon publication of the novel, Poirot became the only fictional character to have been given an obituary in The New York Times.

Supposing that Ann Radcliffe, Jane Austen, Charlotte Brontë, Edith Wharton, and Mary Elizabeth Braddon formed a literary circle. Supposing this literary circle decided to write and publish a novel. In that case, one could reasonably believe that Rutledge is the novel this circle produced. Miriam Coles Harris was surely inspired by some of these authors, and no doubt she in turn inspired many more after her.

I do not believe that I have ever read a novel that brought so many other novels and writers to mind. Were I to choose one writer that came to mind most often, it would be Wharton, possibly because of the carefully described social atmosphere and dysfunctional characters of New England's privileged classes. Gothic influences are apparent in the spooky house, hidden rooms, and tightly kept and damning secrets, while belabored romances curtailed by misplaced pride and affections could have come straight from any Regency or Victorian romance. Braddon’s The Doctor’s Wife was published only four years after Rutledge; thus, the elements of “sensation novels” may have simply been the vogue at the time. I suspect that Rutledge could also belong to that genre since, like The Doctor’s Wife, it is a first-class page-turner.

The story begins one gloomy November day when our narrator (who remains unnamed) spends her last hours with her boarding school friends before Arthur Rutledge arrives to take her to live with her aunt, Mrs. Edith Churchill. During the journey, the narrator and Mr. Rutledge are injured in a train wreck and are thus moved to a nearby parsonage to recuperate before continuing the journey. The parsonage is part of a large estate, called Rutledge, and here the young lady experiences the kindness and caring of the parsonage’s occupants. Since the narrator is an orphan, their loving attention makes a lasting impression upon her. When Mr. Rutledge and the parson determine that their charge is well enough to be moved, Arthur and the narrator make the short journey to the main estate house. Here, she enjoys freedom and tranquility such as she has never known, and she thrives under the indulgent goodness of Mr. Rutledge. All too soon, however, the time comes for Arthur to deliver her into the hands of her aunt.

“Between the rough and torturing world and the scared and shrinking soul, the mother’s love should interpose, shielding, soothing, reassuring. God meant it to be so; may His pity be the guard of the little ones, whom death, the world, the flesh or the devil, have defrauded of their right!”

The narrator’s uncle, Mr. Churchill, has passed on to his eternal reward, and when we meet his widow, we can all agree that he is in a much better place. The icy and self-indulgent Mrs. Churchill has three daughters: Josephine, whom she hopes to marry to Mr. Rutledge; Grace, whose determined role in life is to serve as a thorn in any competitor’s side; and Essie, a small child looking for human kindness and unable to find any in this dysfunctional household. Living in a large city (perhaps New York) the older girls are preoccupied with their social life that also demands nearly 100 percent of their mother’s attention. Essie, unable to participate in the social life of her mother and two sisters, and forlornly looking for a caring companion, gratefully latches on to the narrator, who needs love and human kindness almost as much as Essie does.

“If other people neglected their children, and left their duties for their pleasures, why need I concern myself? Why need I take upon myself their discarded responsibilities?”

Our narrator becomes a quasi-mother to Essie while Mrs. Churchill, unable to tell the difference between illness and bad behavior, shuns and punishes her youngest child for her outbursts and refuses to listen when she is advised that perhaps Essie has something more wrong with her than just a temper.

Although she was not interested in society, preferring the quiet solitude of Rutledge with nothing else to keep her occupied, the narrator joins her aunt and cousins in their social whirl and begins, to a certain degree, to enjoy it. She meets a dashing young Frenchman and begins as much a relationship with him as her friendless, orphaned existence and her continuing attachment to Arthur Rutledge allows. However the Frenchman, harbors a dark secret and a shameful reason for his and his mother’s banishment from his native home.

“It was so easy to look back and see it all—how one slight omission of duty had led to another—how one moment of indulgence had weakened self-control—one disregard of truth had grown into the tyrant sin from which I could not now release myself; struggle as I might, I was helpless in its grasp. Every step but plunged me deeper; every word was but a fresh deceit.”

More tragedy ensues before our narrator determines to return to the place of real joy and love and be with those who ask nothing in return.

“I had not realized, till I came into its sunshine again how perfectly necessary to anything like happiness an atmosphere of love is.”

This ebook is the result of another of our proofreading projects for Project Gutenberg in partnership with Marc D’Hooghe of freeliterature.org. This is the second book I have volunteered to proof, and--as with the first--I was very glad I did. Like my first proofing project, Braddon’s The Doctor’s Wife, Rutledge is definitely a diamond in the rough. I often like to get a hard copy of the books I am working on, so I did a search for Rutledge and could not come up with a hard copy from any source. I am so pleased that, thanks to freeliterature.org and Project Gutenberg, this book will not be lost to posterity.

Heidi has been, off and on, one of the top-rated ebooks on this site, beating out better-known classics of British and American literature. Written in 1880 by Swiss author Johanna Spyri, Heidi focuses on events in the life of a young orphan who is pawned off on her hermit grandfather at a young age. Heidi's innate goodness and loving attitude has a deep effect on those around her, including grumpy gramps, helping them to realize the error of their ways and changing their lives for the better.

Much more than a tribute to the goodness of human nature, Heidi is also a paean to nature and her produce (namely the produce of Swiss milk goats). Be forewarned: if you love dairy, you will want to eat cheese and drink milk every time you pick up this book.  I recently read Weston A. Price's classic Nutrition and Physical Degeneration, and particularly the chapter on "Isolated and Modernized Swiss" reminded me of Heidi. From the amount of raw dairy Heidi ingests in this book, no doubt she and her kin have very strong teeth and bones!

You will also need a handkerchief, as Heidi's heartwarming antics will produce misty eyes every time. Not only is this book full of wholesome ideals, it is also very charming. Where Louisa May Alcott and similar authors of young adult literature may verge on sappiness, Spyri conversely wraps the most endearing story in truthful, honest prose.

There are several references to God's teachings in this book, which some reviewers think classifies Heidi as strictly religious material. However the references aren't overtly of any particular religion. And the basic religious principles Heidi learns are founded in common sense and courtesy. Heidi--as all the best literature, young adult or not--has something for readers of all ages and beliefs.

Girlebooks has published both modern romances and fairy tales, but I believe this is the first time we have published both in the same novel. When reading this delightful tale, our reader will at once believe this is the Cinderella tale retold in modern times, down to the much-sought-after magic shoes. On closer inspection, our reader will see a reality show in the making, then perhaps a romance with a little Rocky thrown in for good measure. The Butterfly Dress is hard to classify, but that should encourage our reader to revel in this tale. Its resistance to categorization makes this tale more enjoyable.

For me, an avid seamstress and gardener with a not-so-secret addiction to pizza and donuts, harboring fantasies about large greenhouses and billowy prom dresses, the story spoke to all my weaknesses. Perhaps it may find a few of yours.

Flora Oak, a designer of formal gowns, takes design classes at a local college from a professor who is a close approximation of the Wicked Witch of the West (wrong tale, but you get the picture.) When not in class, Flora works in a dress shop for a mother who resembles Cinderella’s Wicked Stepmother. Flora works hard, eats large, and is so accustomed to her superiors calling her a failure that she accepts those opinions without question.

One day she is asked to create a gown for Eleanor Nottingham, the duchess of local society. Eleanor will wear the dress to the annual Nottingham coronation ball. Flora’s self-doubts prompt her to resist that assignment until Mrs. Nottingham sends a horse-driven carriage take her to the Nottingham estate. There Flora meets a possible Prince Charming, but complications abound before she can reach her happy ending.  The story’s conclusion will drift more toward Fractured Fairy Tales than the Brothers Grimm, and more power to it!

On a personal note, when Laura assigned me this book she told me that Miranda lived in my city: San Antonio, Texas. After reading the book, I simply had to interview her in person. Being employed by the local newspaper, Miranda was amused at the prospect since she is usually the person doing the interviewing. We met at Starbucks and had a lovely time discussing the book.

Q: It is hard to read your book without getting hungry. Pizza, donuts, toasted peanut butter sandwiches, cookies hidden under the bed, waffles, cheesecake--are you a foodie?

A: Actually, all that started because the first people to follow my blog were food bloggers! When I was working at a local community newspaper, I did a lot of stories on restaurants, so I was always writing about food! I think a lot of women tend to bond over food and seek comfort over food, which is why Flora is always dining with Jackie. It's not much fun eating pizza and pancakes alone, you know?

Q: Have you lived long in San Antonio? If so, was your experience with the societal conventions here (and the stratified society, as well as the fiesta coronation) part of your inspiration?

A: I've lived here for six years. We moved here straight after college--my husband and I graduated, moved and married within two weeks after graduation! I was introduced to Alamo Heights after I began working for the paper here, but it had nothing to do with The Butterfly Dress.

Q: You have many garden elements in your story, including the names of your characters--Oak, Heather, Flora, Tulip--and then there is Jackie who is the environmental science major who wants to save the world with butterfly gardening. Then there is the design studio that was formerly a greenhouse. What inspirations did you follow for these elements, and are you an avid gardener yourself?

A: I've always loved nature and loved gardens. I hate winter because everything dies and I can't be outside as much--I take at least two long rambling walks a day and love swimming in the summer. My dream is to have a huge garden with a gazebo and a bench where I can sit and daydream on pretty days!

Q: You seem to know a lot about dressmaking, especially formal dress. Does your knowledge come from research or experience?

A: My mother and sister are avid needle pointers and my mother used to sew all our Halloween costumes. My favorite was a dress based off Sleeping Beauty that I wore from 4-7 (it didn't fit that great at 7 but I loved it!) I love the art of sewing and would love to design, but have no patience or skills!

Q: Have you published or written other books?

A: I self-published three books, available on my blog A Duck in her Pond (www.aduckinherpond.com). My middle grade novel Deep Blue Mermaid is coming out in April from Turquoise Morning Press.

Q: Are you now or have you ever been a bookworm? (The library scene in the Nottingham mansion in The Butterfly Dress was a nice touch, especially for our readers.)

A: I am THE bookworm. My office is stuffed with all my childhood books and I go to the library at least once a week. It's not uncommon for me to bury my nose in a book on my long rambling walks--I've run into a lot of trees.

Q: What book most influenced you when you were growing up?

A: Madeline L'engle’s A Wrinkle in Time.

Q: What inspired you to write The Butterfly Dress?

A: My mother bought me a sundress in a boutique and I was wearing it out to dinner one night and just had this vision of a woman in a dress made of butterfly wings. That's how Flora began. (See photo).

O Pioneers! starts with the death of John Bergson, a Swedish immigrant with a keen foresight to the eventual worth of his land in rural Nebraska. The rest of the novel follows the lives of his children, particularly Alexandra Bergson who inherits her father's business sense and foresight. John Bergson's spirit remains present throughout the story, observing from his portrait on the wall the changes that follow the land and his children. It seems to be through his eyes--not through a religious or other moral compass--that Cather presents her story.

I would call O Pioneers! the perfect novel had I not read that her following novels are even better. It is short, but engrossing, and meticulously crafted. Her characterization is reminiscent of George Eliot: there are no good or evil characters. All characters have both good and evil in them, and through their actions good or evil befalls them. It is refreshing to read a story in which the author is not heavy-handed in her judgments or moral ideals. Apparently Cather was criticized during her time for simply describing poor people rather than politicizing their cause. But by staying true to her story, she presents a timeless narrative more moving that any political tirade could be.

Janice Tarver successfully published her first book, The Happy Medium, on Girlebooks two years ago. Since then her clients have been begging for her to write another. Bowing to their wishes, she has compiled a collection of vignettes, and this time her clients take center stage.

In her work as a medium, Janice’s clients contact her because they are grieving or because they are worried about a close member of their family. Thus, she hears much about loss and grieving: loss of a spouse, a child, a parent or a beloved pet. Janice works through the process of loss so that the client can come away with a certain sense of peace, no matter how painful, hopeless or even horrifying the situation may have become. She addresses the question of whether pets have souls, and whether houses can indeed be haunted.

Recently, she started painting pet portraits for people who want to immortalize their pets on canvas. One of her requisites for completing a pet portrait is that the pet (living or deceased) must “speak” to her with his/her eyes before she will release the portrait. In terms of grieving, Janice expands upon loss of beloved pets. Editor Joyce McDonald and Janice became very close when Joyce was getting over the loss of three very old cats. Similarly, just before the book was published, Janice lost her dog Angus. Joyce records conversations about Janice's grieving process and Angus’ life in the hereafter.

Finally, Janice describes how messages come to her during a reading and how she handles those messages and passes them on to her clients. An interesting fact is that the impressions she sees or hears as part of a reading can mean nothing at all to her. She passes on what she sees or hears in much the same way as a Western Union operator might pass on a telegram—receiving the message from one source and passing it on to the recipient without really being involved with what the telegram itself means. Janice is always fascinated to find out how the client interprets what she has come up with.

A Humble Romance, first published in 1887 to wide popularity, tells various stories of rural New England folks, mostly women. This collection catches you from its "humble" beginning. Each story is engrossing, yet surprising in its simplicity of characters and plot. Far from beautiful heiresses or men on panting steeds, the main characters are mostly old spinsters and sometimes a plain niece or two. The plot rarely goes beyond a long held grudge or--at the extreme--a woman left at the altar. But the stories pull you in from the start, as if you had known the characters all your life and are unavoidably invested in their fates.

Memorable from the first reading are the two wily sisters who run away from the nursing home. Then there's angry Mrs. Muzzy who's recent family tragedies make her decide not to celebrate Thanksgiving--a painful kitchen accident might persuade her otherwise. Another is the overbearing Mrs. Steele who means kindly, but her kindness might drive her poor friend to extremes. Finally steely Delia who is the woman left at the altar, however her story is much more about how she handles her situation in a most inspiring manner.

Reading this collection will make you wonder why we all don't know of Mary E Wilkins Freeman as we do Willa Cather or Edith Wharton. Each and every story is excellent--there is not one lacking among the bunch. Such consistency in writing makes one think that her other works must be just as good--and happily there is a lot. She wrote mostly short stories, but there is a novel here and there. It is a joy find such talent in a relatively unknown and unexplored author who will surely provide quality reading material through a lifetime of reading and re-readings.

First published in 1899, The Solitary Summer picks up where Elizabeth and Her German Garden left off. Instead of a year's diary of the previous book, this sequel relates a summer in the life of Elizabeth in her patterings about the garden, care of her "babies" and various escapades with servants and towns-folk.

The book starts with a premise--Elizabeth is to have a summer free of guests, all to herself and her family and her beloved garden. Her husband, "The Man of Wrath", doesn't believe she will last; she will undoubtedly get bored and call for the assistance and entertainment of a friend. But Elizabeth's love of nature and solitude wins in the end, and anyone with a love of the same will love this book in turn. The Man of Wrath makes many more appearances in this book than the previous. While it might not have been initially the intention, The Solitary Summer ends up being a love letter to her husband, and the dedication to him at the beginning proves this to be so.

On a personal note, Elizabeth von Arnim has become one of my favorite writers. There's something to be said about an author who can write about nothing in particular and make it interesting. If one were to ask me what is the plot of this book, I would have trouble relating it. But I wholeheartedly recommend it. Whenever reading one of von Arnim's books, I find myself wanting to read passages aloud to my own Man of Wrath--an entry on Thoreau by a pond is particularly memorable. May I share?

"Thoreau has been my companion for some days past, it having struck me as more appropriate to bring him out to a pond than to read him, as was hitherto my habit, on Sunday mornings in the garden. He is a person who loves the open air, and will refuse to give you much pleasure if you try to read him amid the pomp and circumstance of upholstery; but out in the sun, and especially by this pond, he is delightful, and we spend the happiest hours together, he making statements, and I either agreeing heartily, or just laughing and reserving my opinion till I shall have more ripely considered the thing. He, of course, does not like me as much as I like him, but I live in a cloud of dust and germs produced by wilful superfluity of furniture, and have not the courage to get a match and set light to it."

The Country of Pointed Firs is a book you can take your time with. You can read a bit of it, put it down to read something else, and pick it right back up again, immediately immersing yourself into late 1800s New England. The book has a dreamy quality, and it's sense of nostalgia is very strong as if this place and time described no longer exists but in the author's memory. It's not especially sad, but it got me thinking of similar events or people in my life that are perhaps gone forever. You can tell that the importance lies in the time, as you can always go back to the place, but maybe things have changed so much that the experience will never be the same.

Since I read this book on and off over a period of several months, I will comment that I don't feel I lost anything from taking several breaks from reading. There are many characters in the book, but the plot is secondary to the the feel of the story, and that is something you don't forget as easily. A review by a reader on Amazon stayed with me, as it describes perfectly the mood of the book:

"I would recommend reading this book some afternoon with the telephone unplugged, sitting on a porch with a teapot full of Earl Grey nearby, with your feet propped up and your cares let down. It's as subtle and delightful as a waft of air from the garden after an afternoon shower. It's a haiku in prose--the memory of the book is better than the reading."