Review: The Witches of New York

4 stars. In this charming and fiercely feminist story, three witches unite in 1880 New York: seventeen-year-old Beatrice (a talented young lady looking for magic and a new life in the big city), Eleanor St. Clair (a thirty-something owner of a useful shop called Tea and Sympathy - would like to go there, thanks!), and Adelaide Thom (a courageous young woman living with scars both visible and unseen). All three find companionship, support and magic by leaning on one another to fight traditional expectations, societal constraints and supernatural threats. There’s a surly talking raven, a Civil War vet, a Bird Lady, a Giant Obelisk, a villainous preacher and a couple of colorful ghosts ("Just as a child learns reading, writing, and arithmetic, the dead had to tackle their three Rs as well: revenge, regret, and reconciliation.") plus demons. It’s quite a crowd.

McKay's tone is matter-of-fact and humorous, but there's an undercurrent of anger, causing The Witches of New York to feel light and heavy at the same time. It tries to be fun and deep. The danger never seems real and we completely expect a happy ending, but it tackles such important, weighty subjects: the strength, courage and fortitude of women, the power of friendship, the complicated and wonderfully imperfect nature of being female, the struggle of being female, the struggle to push against the patriarchy when it pushes back twice as hard. It's lovely, really, and sends an important message.

It's not flawless. There are a lot of characters here - fleshed out characters with agency, to McKay's credit - but it almost feels Dickension (not in a good way). It was a little hard for me to keep track of; a little too expansive for its own good. Perhaps McKay was trying to emulate Jonathan Norrell and Mr. Strange? A lot of it just seemed unnecessary. I love stories with layers, but this one had too many. I also question the romantic subplot(s) - ladies, you don’t need a man/significant other to live fulfilling lives!

And there's a very, very, very apparent lack of diversity. This is about female empowerment - as it turns out, white female empowerment. I would've been very interested and very happy to read any included diverse voices, and I think, considering the time and place of this book's setting, they would've added a lot. Overlooking these voices is counter to the aforementioned message. 

Despite these weaknesses, The Witches of New York is strong. It made me smile. It's very well-researched and the details are absolutely charming, which reminded me somewhat of The Alienist (only the tidbits about New York! That book is not for the faint of heart!). I really rooted for our heroines and appreciated such an intense (if not well-rounded) exploration of female identity. I’ve never read Practical Magic, but I’ve seen the movie, and can guess that it has similar vibes. I found myself wanting to bookmark the tea recipes and try the little magic tricks for warding off evil. Ami McKay is an excellent and sophisticated writer and it shows. I wanted something soothing and quiet, and this delivered, with a lot of meaning tucked in its pages. 

The Witches of New York on: Amazon | Goodreads

Retro Review: Pines

When I started this blog, I had been posting reviews on Goodreads for about 6 months. In the interest of having all of my book writing in one place, I will post one of these old reviews every Friday. They weren't written with a blog in mind, so please forgive the lack of summary and off-the-cuff tone.

2 stars. Secret Service Agent Ethan Burke arrives in Wayward Pines, Idaho to investigate the disappearance of two fellow agents. Upon arrival, Burke is involved in a serious car accident and wakes up in a town where nothing is as it seems. Stranded and confused, Burke begins to unravel the mystery of the town in an adventure that ends in a fight for his life.

Well, this book was exhausting. And not in a good way.

It was sort of like one giant, extended chase scene (that seriously pushed the limits of reality) with a bizarre plot twist at the end.

Don't get me wrong - the plot twist was fascinating, and twisted, and science fiction in the BEST way. It's just that EVERYTHING ELSE - the writing, the characters, the dialogue - was so shoddy it detracted from the impact of the big reveal.

I actually ended up skimming a lot, especially toward the end. And I'm such a weirdo perfectionist that I almost NEVER skim, even if I hate what I'm reading.

I just couldn't take any more of "Ethan's Survival Guide to the Idaho Wilderness." I just couldn't handle another scene in which the superhuman secret agent somehow avoided the town mob armed only with pure adrenaline and insane rock-climbing abilities.

It's such a good concept. But man, is the execution poor.

I really liked the author's afterword, and his obvious admiration of Twin Peaks. In my opinion, though, had he channeled even half the subtle creepiness of David Lynch into the story, he would have been much better off. It was obvious that something was wrong the minute Ethan arrived in Wayward Pines - but that was the problem. It shouldn't have been that obvious, at least not at first. The town shouldn't have fought him so hard so quickly. The clues should've been more subtle, and quiet - and thus would've been so much more unnerving.

Watch the TV show instead. It's a tremendous mystery that makes so much more sense.

Pines on: Amazon | Goodreads

Review: The Virgin Suicides

2019 CHALLENGE: 1 YOU HAVEN'T READ THAT YET?! PER MONTH 02 / 12

5 stars. No surprises here. I love the movie, I loved reading Middlesex, and thematically this checks all the boxes for me. I was struck, however, by a couple of things: first, the uniqueness of the narrative voice. First person plural is rare, successful first person plural is unheard of. To Eugenides’ credit, it really works, and it was refreshing to fall into a sort of collective, shared headspace. I fell in love with the boys who fell in love with the Lisbon sisters; their quiet and honest sense of obsession and horror is totally unselfconscious.

Second, the playful and subtle way Eugenides illustrates how incapable people are at handling grief. In examining so closely the reaction to the girls’ suicides (not a spoiler!), we see people lose all sense of self-awareness. An entire community flounders and stumbles around in fear and curiosity and humor. We see an astounding lack of sensitivity from neighbors, “friends,” acquaintances. There is painfully misplaced judgment and blame. We see clumsy attempts to heal and help. The only people who truly try to understand are the narrators - and they don’t really get there. This felt very real.

Third, I thought this book would examine more deeply what it means to be female. I expected the point would be that the girls’ femaleness would inform their deaths, not necessarily the other way around. That’s not a critique, just an observation. Aside from Cecelia’s perfect explanation to her doctor, this was more about youth and tragedy than female youth and female tragedy. Being desired, desiring others, desiring more … all explored with a superficial eye. But it’s not just about the girls. It’s about the boys.

It’s about the boys’ lust and their coming-of-age in middle class suburbia; their memories and their shared reminiscence of an impactful event that changed their perspective forever. It’s about the loss of innocence and an attempt to grapple with something that simply cannot be explained. It’s about adults not having all the answers. It’s about seeing another person through a fog - or a lens - or a telescope of your own making, of your own perceptions. Or perhaps through a coating of dusk, muck, grass, smog, bugs.

I thought this would annoy me - the prevalence of the male gaze. But the girls do have agency. They’re awkward, strange, nerdy, mistake-making teenage girls and the boys (the men) later recognize this. Perhaps we would be more forgiving of girls if we remembered that. They’re not perfect, mythical, beautiful, ethereal creatures too special for this world. They’re just girls.

This was a satisfying read in the sense that I knew I would love it. But it’s not a happy book. Also …

Otter insulation? Otter insulation? EW.

The Virgin Suicides on: Amazon | Goodreads

Review: Looker

4 stars. I feel so lucky that I can, in this day and age, read extensively about complicated, layered, real women. Women who are capable of good and evil. Successful women with problems, women who are fulfilled in different ways, strong, stubborn, obsessive, struggling, sexual women who fuck up and buck up and own the fact that being a women means being a fighter. Women who are large and loud and present.

Yes, we still have a long way to go, particularly in featuring women of color and other diverse voices. But I'm thrilled to see so many artists explore what it means to be female, especially under the surface. I particularly enjoy authors like Gillian Flynn, Madeline Miller, and Ottessa Moshfegh, who poke and scrape and peek under the blanket, pulling at the knots, giving even the most grotesque and dangerous of us a pointed spotlight.

More of that, please. I really do eat it up. But when so many artists - starved to be heard - jump on the train, that train gets crowded. And common elements emerge. Trends. And suddenly what once felt new and fresh feels derivative and stale. Things start sounding familiar. 

A depressed, spiraling, recently-separated, wine-guzzling, self-loathing, utterly judgmental female becomes obsessed with someone. Another female, perhaps. Becomes tangled up in a crime. She is unlikeable, and an unreliable narrator. The Girl on the Train. The Woman in the Window. Notes on a Scandal. Even Sharp Objects. And now, Looker.

AND IT'S AWESOME! I loved it. Yes, it feels familiar - in the BEST WAYS. This is a succinct pageturner that takes you into the mind of a middle-aged college professor, recently separated, who becomes infatuated with an actress who lives down the street. Yes, she guzzles wine, she's full of self-loathing, she swings between envy and anger, she's hypercritical of others - all characteristics we see frequently in these types of books. But Laura Sims manages to keep things moving in a sharp and witty way, placing you right in the terrifying headspace of someone suffering a nervous breakdown.

I think what's so terrifying about this is we can all relate to our unnamed narrator, in small ways. Her outlook overlaps ours. I think many of us have experienced a bizarre sense of entitlement when it comes to celebrities we admire. Her struggles with infertility sound absolutely brutal and serve as a fascinating explanation (not excuse) for her descent into madness. I liked the tight focus and the level of detail, despite it being so short. I liked the poetry. And I loved the ending.

I would argue that this isn't solely about the obsession with the actress, so don't go in expecting that. It's about a variety of factors and circumstances, internal and external, contributing to one flawed woman's breakdown. Her sense of justification was twisted but very human. I was glued to the pages as she slowly lost her grip on reality. I almost rooted for her. I almost rooted for her to go for it, to cross the line. Looker provided a really weird, and really fun, reading experience - a true, in my opinion, psychological thriller.

Looker on: Amazon | Goodreads

Review: The Traitor Baru Cormorant

3 stars. My second DNF on Goodreads! It's in my nature to be stubborn and stick with things, but about halfway through this I took a step back and realized I was done. The Traitor Baru Cormorant is not a bad book at all, I'm just the wrong reader for it. Nothing against Seth Dickinson and his frankly impressive worldbuilding here, but I wasn't interested.

Super high level summary: a fierce and intelligent young woman infiltrates the group that conquered her homeland intending to stoke the flames of rebellion from within their highest ranks. It's painful, for her: navigating the system, learning who to trust, weaving together the millions of threads required to reach her goal. We get front row seats as she experiences the growth and great personal sacrifice required to change the world. It's a fantastic premise.

And I want to recognize that this book deals with some incredibly important themes - homophobia, racism, gender dynamics, colonialism, power - in incredibly insightful ways. I really admire authors who successfully tackle stuff like that in complex fantasies, because it can go so wrong. So many pitfalls to avoid! Dickinson pulls through, at least in the first half of the book, with a nice balance of cleverness and sensitivity.

So why did I put it down? Well, I hate math. I love that Dickinson tried to demonstrate the power of money here (I love considering the concept of conquest from all angles), but I have to admit that most of it was pretty over my head. I also couldn't hold onto certain delicacies within the plot, nor could I easily remember or recognize most of the characters. I'm a really careful reader, but I just couldn't stick with the writing style here. It felt sloppy, to me. It's totally, totally fine for an author to rely on his or her readers to draw conclusions, make jumps, recall plot points, etc., but this felt extreme. (And I almost say that sheepishly, less as a criticism and more of an admission that maybe I'm not smart enough?)

But it's certainly unique, and I may be tempted to pick it up again. Baru is an awesome character. The way she struggles with her sexuality feels so potent and tragic and hopeless. In that sense, it's really powerful writing. And I appreciate that Dickinson isn't preachy or sanctimonious, he just lets the chips fall. I can't really recommend this, and I can't comment on how it ends, but I fully acknowledge that there's something interesting here. It just isn't for me.

The Traitor Baru Cormorant on: Amazon | Goodreads

Retro Review: It

When I started this blog, I had been posting reviews on Goodreads for about 6 months. In the interest of having all of my book writing in one place, I will post one of these old reviews every Friday. They weren't written with a blog in mind, so please forgive the lack of summary and off-the-cuff tone.

5 stars. This book is a triumph. It tells such a gargantuan, important story. Stephen King has a gift, and I'm so impressed. I have so many observations.

First of all - this story is so, so sad. Heartbreaking. I'm used to horror books and movies killing off characters I barely know or care about; usually they are stupid, ignorant, boring, or all of the above. Getting to know the victims so intimately - their backgrounds, their thoughts - made their deaths feel like punches to the gut. Don't get me wrong, this technique made the story a lot scarier, and I admire how twisted Stephen King is. And I like to be scared. But following an innocent child to his death in the rain was really painful!

It's sad in other ways, too. King illustrates what you might call the gradual tragedy of growing up. He's obvious about it, and it's so accurate it's agonizing to read. We all experience the transition from childhood to adulthood, right? It's universal. And it's often described as gaining something - independence, awareness, knowledge, experience. King choose to focus on what we lose - youth, innocence, a sense of immortality, a sense that we can trust the world, the deep connections built with friends in imaginary worlds. He's so crazy good at capturing childhood and adolescence it was a little agonizing to read. I felt a pit in my stomach and epic amounts of nostalgia.

Secondly - the details are excessive. That's neither here nor there, I guess, not good or bad, but excessive is the only word I can use. I love that King writes so conversationally, and fills his prose with references to pop culture and businesses and brands and everyday observations. It's part of what makes him so unique, and what makes his books so ... full to the brim.

The excess feels extra appropriate in some places, especially when he describes the depth of fear, or writes from the perspective of a young child. But it's a little distracting at times. There are diatribes peppered with parenthetical references. There are experimental attempts to document rapid-fire thoughts and observations. That's his style, I totally get it. But it felt a little laborious in this particular book.

Third - I thought this book was going to be about, you know, a clown.

It's not. This book has every scary thing you could ever imagine tucked between its pages. Yes, there's a clown. There's also a werewolf, a mummy, a leper, a crawling eye, Frankenstein, moving photographs, ghosts, giant birds, epic amounts of sewage, and more. And even scarier - psycopathy, bullying, violence, child molestation, domestic abuse, unusual sex, addiction, and more. A lot more. You've been warned.

Despite that list, I didn't think It was scary, at first, actually at all. But then one morning I was going downstairs to get breakfast, in the dark, and I found myself thinking about what it would be like find a head in my fridge and ... yeah, I got a little jumpy. It earns points for that. I'm not even sure, though, that I'd classify it as a horror book. It's a dramatic tragedy with a, well, with a happy ending, I guess...

I wish I could better describe my impressions of this book. I used the phrase "full to the brim" above and I can't help but think that's a good description. It's just full. Full of thoughts and ideas and characters and feelings and monsters and sadness and children and adults and evil places.

It's unusual, for sure. It's trippy and weird, although it's easier to swallow if you don't question it. It's an incredible piece of writing. That's what's so weird/amazing about Stephen King - you start reading and you're like, wtf am I reading? And then you LOVE IT. And then you close the book and you're like, wtf did I just read?

It on: Amazon | Goodreads

Review: Perfume

3 stars. I have this thing that I would probably describe as perfect music memory: if you play for me a song I've heard before, I can tell you when I heard it last, even if it was 20 years ago, and where I was when I heard it, down to the very last detail. Trust me, I'm of average intelligence, and it's basically just a useless party trick, but that part of my brain is, I guess, extra cool.

This book is about a man whose nose is, apparently, also extra cool. Perfume tells the story of Jean-Baptise Grenouille, a young man in eighteenth century France with a perfect sense of smell. He is able to identify, analyze, dissect and produce even the faintest aroma, and his skill lends itself to an obsession - a drive to capture and cultivate an ultimate perfume made from the scent of beautiful young virgins.

Grenouille is a psychopath - which adds a compelling layer to the character study. His entire existence is driven by scent. The premise itself is wonderfully challenging and the writing - as in, the way the author stitches together his words - is lyrical and lovely. But my eyes glazed over many, many times. I should've eaten this up, but it took me a bit long, primarily because, I think, there is literally no one to root for in this book. I'm all for an anti-hero, but this sort of feels, occasionally, like a writing exercise the author did to prove he could write abhorrent characters. And he succeeds, mostly:

Grenouille broke out in a different jubilation, a black jubilation, a wicked feeling of triumph that set him quivering and excited him like an attack of lechery, and he had trouble keeping from spurting it like venom and spleen over all these people and screaming exultantly in their faces: that he was not afraid of them; that he hardly hated them anymore; but that his contempt for them was profound and total, because they were so dumb they stank; because they could be deceived by him, let themselves be deceived; because they were nothing, and he was everything!

But it's detrimental to Perfume's overall success as an engaging novel. It can apparently be quite boring, venturing into the mind of one male selfish bastard after another. And it gets weird, too, and not in an interesting, fascinating way - in a kind of uncomfortable, this-author-is-jerking-off-to-himself, sort of way (I'm pointing in particular to the middle of the book, when things dragged and rambled a bit).

Ultimately, though, I sincerely enjoyed the exploration of scent, maybe only because I'm a huge nerd about sensory triggers and the way our senses impact and interact with our brain waves. Pheromones and all that: 

For people could close their eyes to greatness, to horrors, to beauty, and their ears to melodies or deceiving words. But they could not escape scent. For scent was a brother of breath. Together with breath it entered human beings, who could not defend themselves against it, not if they wanted to live. And scent entered into their very core, went directly to their hearts, and decided for good and all between affection and contempt, disgust and lust, love and hate. He who ruled scent ruled the hearts of men.

And then, that ending. Brilliant! I loved it. An astonishing and perfect conclusion. Enough to bring this up from 2 stars to 3 - I really, really liked it. Read this if you're in the mood for something luscious and unique. I think of it sort of as a Rembrandt - an intelligent, eye-catching, stimulating portrait painted with dark, moody colors. There are components of this (the premise, the writing, the ending) that are truly memorable and great.

Perfume on: Amazon | Goodreads

Retro Review: Sharp Objects

When I started this blog, I had been posting reviews on Goodreads for about 6 months. In the interest of having all of my book writing in one place, I will post one of these old reviews every Friday. They weren't written with a blog in mind, so please forgive the lack of summary and off-the-cuff tone.

5 stars. Here's a summary, for those of you who somehow haven't encountered one yet: Camille Preaker, fresh out of a mental institution, reluctantly returns to her hometown on a work assignment. Wind Gap, Missouri is reeling from the murders of two young girls, and Camille is told to write a story on the deaths for her small Chicago newspaper. Unfortunately, she has a horrible past and a horrible relationship with her family (specifically, her mother). Still grieving the death of her sister from years ago, Camille tries to gather the facts for her story while unintentionally unearthing the darkness from her childhood.

I loved Sharp Objects, but warning: this is not a feel-good book. I know it's cliche to say, but Gillian Flynn is a super gutsy writer and that comes through significantly in this narrative. She features characters that hate themselves and hate everyone around them (and somehow don't feel like antagonists - they feel very human). Camille, in this novel, is incredibly superficial and harshly critical of others - she zeroes in on every potentially unflattering characteristic of those she encounters and highlights them in grossly detailed ways.

This is also a bit of a Gillian Flynn trademark. The gross details. I remember her describing vomited spaghetti in Dark Places - the words she used left quite an impression (warning: there is a lot of vomit in Sharp Objects, too). Then again, seeing vomited spaghetti would likely leave an impression if I had seen it with my own eyes.

So maybe that's one of her strengths - her ability to realistically describe what we pay attention to. When someone at the table gets spinach in their teeth, it's all anyone can think about. Basically, Gillian Flynn has a knack for pointing it out. And describing it in the most disgusting way possible. And somehow making the spinach-wearer seem hateful even though the spinach-wearer isn't technically at fault. I just love her grotesque style.

I also loved the story. I figured out what was going on almost immediately, but that didn't take away from the experience at all. I found myself reading and rushing and reading and rushing because I wanted confirmation so badly.

Look, this book is disturbing. It is dark, especially in its depiction of women as villains and as victims. I may return to expand on how upon reading Sharp Objects,I felt as though a piece clicked into place in the puzzle of what it means to be a woman. But for now, I'll just say that I loved every word. A home run.

Sharp Objects on: Amazon | Goodreads

Review: The Girl with a Pearl Earring

4 stars. I picked this up because I felt like I should. I bought my copy years ago at a library book sale for like $3 or something. The movie had just been released and everyone was swooning. I believe I recall my parents trading it around with neighbors. Plus, I really, really, really love art - the power of art, the history of art, the artistic process. And I wanted something a little mellower than all the straight-up horror I've read in 2019 so far. Something lighter.

And it was lovely. This is a shimmery book, very visual and full of color. It is the story of Griet, a young woman who is hired by Vermeer's family as a maid in his household. As she goes about her duties and tends to the many children, the artist recognizes a like-minded, observant individual in her and they develop an intimate friendship culminating in his masterpiece painting, The Girl with a Pearl Earring. 

It's a gorgeous example of historical fiction. And the movie is wonderfully faithful, so I knew what to expect. This is a quiet story, a narrow story, that is somehow able to explore many big themes: coming-of-age, a young girl’s sexual awakening, one’s awareness of class, one’s obedience to that class, one’s sense of duty and honor, strength of character, unrequited lust, female rage … the list goes on. I particularly enjoyed the way the author addressed art - that anyone can be an artist, yes, or recognize and enjoy and consume potent art, and that it can consume you.

I also really appreciated Tracy Chevalier’s succinct storytelling, in fact, I read this in half a day. Not much is known about the artist Vermeer and this peek into his life and process was compelling and kept me turning pages. Griet is also lovely character and I rooted for her. In fact, I wanted it all to be true. There is a story behind every painting (and Chevalier’s version is likely inaccurate, but); I would love to think that the model in the masterpiece experienced some sort of transcendental intimacy with the artist and that lent itself to such a beautiful work of art.

To be read on a rainy day, when you’re in the mood for a prolonged and meaningful daydream.

The Girl with a Pearl Earring on: Amazon | Goodreads

Review: Rosemary's Baby

5 stars. I can’t give this anything less even though it upset me so profoundly. I was moved to tears - frustrated, horrified tears - at least twice. This book made me itch and squirm and scream and I walked away really disturbed. I know, sounds like a horrible reading experience, right? I can’t give it anything less than 5 stars because it elicited such a strong reaction - Ira Levin’s horror is, in that sense, exquisite.

Rosemary’s Baby. Everyone knows what it’s about. In the mid-1960’s, a young woman, Rosemary, and her husband - an actor named Guy - move into a new apartment building called the Bramford. Excited about the prospect of having a child and starting a family, Rosemary settles in to their new place and enjoys her role as homemaker for her husband. They become acquainted with their elderly neighbors - Roman and Minnie - to whom Guy seems to take an unusual interest.

But Rosemary detects something strange about the building and her new neighbors. She’s aware of the Bramford’s colorful past - full of death and strange happenings - and when another young resident leaps out the window, her suspicions grow. Meanwhile, Guy continues to spend time with their neighbors while experiencing a sudden career boost. At last, he decides to give Rosemary what she yearns for - a baby.

And things only get worse from there! Needless to say, Rosemary’s pregnancy is difficult and her neighbors’ extreme interest disturbs her. As the months go by and the due date nears, she begins to perceive an insidious and terrifying plot against her and her baby and learns, ultimately, that she can trust no one.

Literally, no one. Rosemary’s body is stolen from her, and she has nowhere to turn, nowhere to go, nobody she can speak to. Every avenue of true support or friendship is completely eliminated. I felt this as a woman so deeply - nobody believed her. It sickens me so much (I won’t turn this into a political discussion, I promise, but just know that I had such a strong reaction) because I see dark and vivid echoes of this today.

And it’s not just that - it’s the fact that she was so manipulated. The slow discovery that any sense of independence is an illusion? My worst nightmare. She is controlled, completely controlled, even her THOUGHTS are controlled. Did y’all see Hereditary? When you realize you walk into someone else’s trap willingly, thinking you’re doing the right thing?

Along those lines, I couldn’t stand Guy. Among all the villains in this story, he is by far the worst. The way he tries to convince her - so smugly - till the very end makes my stomach turn. Guy Woodhouse is an absolute sorry excuse for a human being and I hope his career crashed and burned so hard he ended up alone and forgotten before dying a painful and agonizing death.

Despite knowing ahead of time what to expect, I wanted this to end so differently. I wanted a satisfying, gory conclusion - an epilogue, perhaps, called Rosemary’s Revenge. But this is one of those gut punches of a horror novel, one where the twist of the blade feels inevitable. The perfection is in the rug pull - you’re safe! Until you aren’t. Oh don’t worry, you’re safe again! Nope, you aren’t safe at all and you never were.

So let’s talk about the writing. I was pleasantly surprised by Levin’s concise, dry manner of craft. The level of detail is incredible and makes things feel very real - too real. He is Salt Bae with clues, sprinkling them into the story with an artful flourish. His ability to portray the female mind is admirable, though I doubt any woman would be that gullible about weird-tasting mousse and a husband’s sneaky behavior. Regardless, it’s a masterpiece of psychological horror. Like I said, I was deeply unsettled.

After this and the Ted Bundy documentary, I don’t know how I’ll ever trust men, or neighbors, again. ALL OF THEM WITCHES.

Rosemary’s Baby on: Amazon | Goodreads