I was a teenager in the late sixties, born into a conservative household, with a huge rebellious streak. Starting with Woodstock, I was obsessed with hippie culture. Communes in particular held a special fascination for me, and later, as places of potential depravity. My sister-in-law lived in a commune in Oregon in the late 60s/early 70s. Many of the details in my novel are pulled from her life, and though she is no longer alive, her adult children shared stories from their childhoods. Her oldest daughter, whom I fictionalized as Shoshanna, became the character and voice I used to recount the family’s escape and eventual safe landing. The story still feels like uncovered family history.
To Kill a Mockingbird is not only the go-to classic coming-of-age tale, Harper Lee’s story is set in a time and place of seismic shift – small-town American South at the slow, dangerous dawn of the Civil Rights movement. Lee explores morality, racism, family, and courage through the eyes of Scout, who ages from six to nine throughout the course of the story. Lee also creates a constellation of authentic characters, among them Scout’s attorney father, Atticus, and beautifully maintains Scout’s at first innocent, then, increasingly knowing voice. Scout is precisely my favorite protagonist, an open, curious, and trusted narrator, and what inspires are the lessons Scout learns as she observes her small town of Mayfield and human nature over the course of a racially-charged trial.
'Shoot all the bluejays you want, if you can hit 'em, but remember it's a sin to kill a mockingbird.'
Atticus Finch gives this advice to his children as he defends the real mockingbird of this classic novel - a black man charged with attacking a white girl. Through the eyes of Scout and Jem Finch, Lee explores the issues of race and class in the Deep South of the 1930s with compassion and humour. She also creates one of the great heroes of literature in their father, whose lone struggle for justice pricks the conscience of a town steeped…
The fact that Green’s protagonist Hazel faces a terminal cancer diagnosis as she is coming of age is fraught enough to engage me as a reader, but it’s Hazel’s pragmatic, wry, and wise voice that utterly pulled me in. Green’s Hazel is both human and tragic. Enter Augustus, the guy she meets and falls for at a cancer patient support group, and all of the learning she has done to face her mortality takes on a whole new dimension as she navigates young love and enormous loss. Green’s prose is moving and smart, his characters resonant. It’s what I look for in a YA read, and what I strive to write myself; a tested yet curious and open protagonist navigating daunting terrain.
The beloved, #1 global bestseller by John Green, author of The Anthropocene Reviewed and Turtles All the Way Down
"John Green is one of the best writers alive." -E. Lockhart, #1 bestselling author of We Were Liars
"The greatest romance story of this decade." -Entertainment Weekly
#1 New York Times Bestseller * #1 Wall Street Journal Bestseller * #1 USA Today Bestseller * #1 International Bestseller
Despite the tumor-shrinking medical miracle that has bought her a few years, Hazel has never been anything but terminal, her final chapter inscribed upon diagnosis. But when a gorgeous plot twist named Augustus Waters…
Simply put, the death knell of the sixties clearly explained. My favorite turbulent decade as described by my all-time favorite author. Didion’s style is incisive and brilliant, and she manages to find the exact moments in the demise of the hippie movement that define both its idealism and cynicism. The children in her essay, the titular Slouching Towards Bethlehem made me want to write about the impact this social movement had on children born into it. She chooses her defining moments so well! Didion’s essays made me understand how both non-fiction and essay could move me, emotionally, in the same way getting lost in a story can.
Joan Didion's savage masterpiece, which, since first publication in 1968, has been acknowledged as an unparalleled report on the state of America during the upheaval of the Sixties Revolution.
We forget all too soon the things we thought we could never forget. We forget the loves and the betrayals alike, forget what we whispered and what we screamed, forget who we were
In her non-fiction work, Joan Didion not only describes the subject at hand - her younger self loving and leaving New York, the murderous housewife, the little girl trailing the rock group, the millionaire bunkered in his mansion…
I love The Age of Miracles because I was so taken with Walker’s scientific premise, that by the “slowing” of rotation, the world would come to its inevitable end. This scientifically grounded plot point was something I found arresting; it fascinated me immediately. I also loved Walker’s eleven-year-old protagonist, Julia. Julia is genuine, believable, set in her strange but also eerily recognizable nearing-the-apocalypse world. Julia also has a rich, and I felt very authentic, inner life. Her emotions rang true, and the plot not only riveted me, it broke my heart.
'It is never what you worry over that comes to pass in the end. The real catastrophes are always different - unimagined, unprepared for, unknown...'
What if our 24-hour day grew longer, first in minutes, then in hours, until day becomes night and night becomes day? What effect would this slowing have on the world? On the birds in the sky, the whales in the sea, the astronauts in space, and on an eleven-year-old girl, grappling with emotional changes in her own life..?
One morning, Julia and her parents wake up in their suburban home in California to discover, along…
Anne’s diary is the world’s foremost first-hand account of coming of age in a time of peril, and also while in hiding. Anne’s own words are smart, funny, and profound. She bears witness to her plight, her growth, her hardships, and her joy. She embodies the concept of lighting a candle rather than cursing the darkness. Anne is a symbol of the power of the written word to illuminate everything and resound eternally. Anne’s diary is both intimate, personal, and a sweeping testament to the power of a single voice to speak to generations. I love how her daily observations, started in the tiny space of the Secret Annex, now embody the epitome of hope and goodness.
With 30 per cent more material than previous editions, this new contemporary and fully anglicized translation gives the reader a deeper insight into Anne's world. Publication of the unabridged Definitive Edition on Penguin Audiobook, read by Helena Bonham-Carter, coincides.
In 1970, as the hippie movement is losing its innocence, Shoshanna and her six-year-old sister, Mara, escape from Sweet Earth Farm, a declining commune run by their tyrannical and abusive father, Adam. Their mother, Ella, takes them to San Francisco, where they meet one of her old friends, Judy, and all decide to head off and try to make a life together.
Finding a safe haven at the farm of kind, elderly Avery Elliot, the four of them find some measure of peace and stability. Then their mother's crippling depression returns. Confused and paranoid, Ella is convinced that she and the girls must leave before Adam finds them and exacts revenge. The girls don’t wish to leave the only stable home they’ve ever had. Will Shoshanna ever live a "normal" life?
Tasha and the Biologist is the second book in the "A Better Man" series. It's a contemporary romance about second chances, two lonely birders, and the healing power of love.
Tasha Moore is a visiting nurse with a family secret. She just went through a bad breakup. Caleb Drexel is a bird biologist trying to start a new life in a small town. He just got out of an unhappy marriage.
What happens when hope and romance bloom between these two nature lovers?
Tasha He was handsome, confident, nice, smart—a good guy. How did he end up here in the middle of Indiana? And how did he know so much about whooping cranes? I’d never met someone as passionate about birds as I was. Was it too soon for me to be thinking about love again? Caleb She was sweet, kind, caring—a nurse and a birder. I really liked her. Maybe more than liked. And I’d only spent two hours—three, tops—with her. Yet, I’d promised myself I wouldn’t get involved with anyone for at least a year after my divorce.
