Archive for the ‘Historical Fiction’ Category

Review: The Jericho River – David W. Tollen

Tuesday, April 19th, 2016
The Jericho River
Paperback: 356 pages
Publisher: Winifred Press; 2 edition (August 4, 2014)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0985451726
ISBN-13: 978-0985451721
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Synopsis:

Jason Gallo is the son of a father who is an avid historian. After his mother dies, things become difficult between he and his father. Then his father is found in a somewhat comatose like state. Jason is tasked with going on an adventure that can only occur through a dream state. This adventure takes Jason on a journey through the entire history of western man.

Characters:

Jason Gallo – Young explorer.
Rim-Hadad – A Barbarian
Tia – Egyptian Temple Priestess.

Review

This book while aimed at younger readers, I found very interesting. Each chapter begins with a note from Dr. Gallo, father to Jason. This note informs the reader of the historical facts behind what Jason will be witnessing in that chapter. The overall plotline is rather simple, Jason must find his father who is lost. Along the way, Jason meets many companions, which in a way is similar to Wizard of Oz and many other such stories. This historical blending into the storyline I found very fascinating, and ended up really enjoying it, and even at my age, found that I learned a bit about history, which was it’s intent.

Overall the book is good for young teens. There are some scenes of mild violence that may not be suitable for some readers. The characters are well developed and very interesting. Overall for teens and pre-teens just beginning to learn world History, I think this would be great book to expose them to. I’ve discovered from experience that a lot of people learn and retain more when the subject is made fun, and this does make the subject fun.

About the Author

David W. TollenDavid Tollen writes novels that teach history and science — as well as works of nonfiction about technology law.

David’s first novel, THE JERICHO RIVER, won first place at both the London Book Festival and the Next Generation Indie Book Awards. It also won a bronze medal in the Readers’ Favorite Book Reviews and Awards Contest, among other honors. THE JERICHO RIVER is a novel that uses fantasy to teach the history of Western Civilization. It’s published by Winifred Press. (The book’s first edition was released under the author pen-name “David Carthage.” The current/second edition uses the author’s actual name.)

David’s second novel — not yet published — is SECRETS OF HOMINEA, a middle grade fantasy that teaches history and science.

David is also the author of THE TECH CONTRACTS HANDBOOK: CLOUD COMPUTING AGREEMENTS, SOFTWARE LICENSES, AND OTHER IT CONTRACTS FOR LAWYERS AND BUSINESSPEOPLE (Second Edition). It’s published by the American Bar Association, and it’s the number-one bestseller for the Intellectual Property Law Section of the ABA. THE TECH CONTRACTS HANDBOOK is a how-to guide for drafting and negotiating IT agreements, written in simple English.

David earned law degrees from Harvard Law School and Cambridge University in England, as well as a B.A. in history from U.C. Berkeley. He’s the founder of Sycamore Legal P.C., a San Francisco technology and intellectual property law firm. He also provides training and expert witness services related to negotiating and drafting IT contracts.

*Disclaimer* A special thanks goes out to Rebecca at The Cadence Group for a review copy of this book. It in no way influenced my review. You can discuss it here or join my facebook page and discuss it there.

Review: I Am Abraham: A Novel of Lincoln and the Civil War – Jerome Charyn

Thursday, February 13th, 2014
Hardcover: 480 pages
Publisher: Liveright (February 3, 2014)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0871404273
ISBN-13: 978-0871404275
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Characters:

Abraham Lincoln – Sixteenth President of the United States.
Mary Todd Lincoln – First Lady.

Synopsis:

Lincoln’s life told from a first person perspective and in the form of a historical novel.

Review

Jerome Charyn is mostly known by me for his Isaac Sidel police novels. This one was a great change of pace, and was about one of my own personal heroes. The novel covers Lincoln’s life from working in a general store all the way up through his election and subsequent assassination.

History unfolds through the eyes of Lincoln and the reader gets a chance to see into Lincoln’s head as he reacts to the events going on around him. We get to witness the death of his sons, his wife’s descent into mental health, and the struggles he dealt with in trying to hold together the republic. The reader also gets a glimpse into the seldom looked at element of Mr. Lincoln and that is his struggles with depression. This aspect of the novel really gives him a humanity and brings the character to life, and is very relatable to the reader.

I actually learned quite a bit about Lincoln while reading this. For example, I’d never heard of the Clarys Grove Boys until reading this. A lot of the information seemed consistent with historical fact, though I think the author may have taken some artistic license in recreating conversations.

Overall though, I found it very enjoyable and I think it would appeal to the history fans and those who are fans of historical fiction. So check it out, and be sure to drop back by and let us know what you thought.

About the Author

Jerome Charyn (born May 13, 1937) is an award-winning American author. With nearly 50 published works, Charyn has earned a long-standing reputation as an inventive and prolific chronicler of real and imagined American life. Michael Chabon calls him “one of the most important writers in American literature.”

New York Newsday hailed Charyn as “a contemporary American Balzac,” and the Los Angeles Times described him as “absolutely unique among American writers.”

Since the 1964 release of Charyn’s first novel, Once Upon a Droshky, he has published 30 novels, three memoirs, eight graphic novels, two books about film, short stories, plays and works of non-fiction. Two of his memoirs were named New York Times Book of the Year. Charyn has been a finalist for the PEN/Faulkner Award for Fiction. He received the Rosenthal Award from the American Academy of Arts and Letters and has been named Commander of Arts and Letters by the French Minister of Culture.

Charyn was Distinguished Professor of Film Studies at the American University of Paris until he left teaching in 2009.

In addition to his writing and teaching, Charyn is a tournament table tennis player, once ranked in the top 10 percent of players in France. Noted novelist Don DeLillo called Charyn’s book on table tennis, Sizzling Chops & Devilish Spins, “The Sun Also Rises of ping-pong.”

Charyn lives in Paris and New York City.

Jerome Charyn’s web site:
http://www.jeromecharyn.com/

Jerome Charyn’s Facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/#!/jerome.charyn

Jerome Charyn’s Twitter:
http://twitter.com/jeromecharyn

*Disclaimer* A special thanks goes out Nicole at Tribute Tours for a review copy of this book. It in no way influenced my review. You can discuss it here or join my facebook page and discuss it there.

Review: Abe Lincoln: Public Enemy – Brian Anthony & Bill Walker

Thursday, November 14th, 2013
Hardcover: 350 pages
Publisher: Bill Walker dba Lowtide Books (October 5, 2013)
Language: English
ISBN-10: ISBN-10: 0989745708
ISBN-13: 978-ISBN-13: 978-0989745703
Order book here:

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Order E-book here:
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Characters:

Abraham Lincoln – 16th President and 1920s Mobster.
Hannah Wheelhouse – As a young girl, her grandfather cast a spell over the bullet used to shoot the President.
Melvin Purvis – An FBI Agent pursuing Lincoln on the Orders of J. Edgar Hoover.
Charlie Barns – A young drifter that Lincoln befriends.

Synopsis:

John Wilkes Booth has shot the President. However, something went wrong, and the President did not die. Instead he remained in a coma to awaken in the 68 years later in 1933. Now he’s being pursued by the FBI and J. Edgar Hoover. He’s become a public enemy.

Review

I found this quite a fun story. As a fan of this time period, it was interesting to see Lincoln interact with historical figures from that time period. If I had one issue with it, the character of FDR was a little more hostile than I would have thought. It didn’t seem to match his character as well, based on what I’ve read of him in other books. However, given the storyline, I was able to overlook that small discrepancy.

The rest of the book I found quite enjoyable. The action scenes were fun, and it was just kind of enjoyable to see Lincoln go full on gangster. While it’s not going to be the greatest story ever written, it’s a fun read especially for those interested in alternative histories.

I’d rate it for older teens and adults to the content of it, but I do recommend it for historical fiction fans. Grab a copy, and be sure to drop back by and let us know what you thought.

Enjoy the Trailer

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Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE
March 3, 1934
Lake County Jail
Crown Point, Indiana

Counselor Louis Piquett felt a trickle of cold sweat roll down between his shoulder blades and silently cursed God, the courts, and the governor of the state of Indiana. He couldn’t afford to be nervous today, yet his head pounded and his stomach churned from the breakfast he’d eaten at a roadside diner on the way to the jail. He fought back a wave of nausea and cranked open the Ford’s passenger side window, letting the raw March air wash over his face. He closed his eyes and breathed it in.

“You okay, Louis?”

Piquett turned toward his law partner, Arthur O’Leary, and nodded. “Right as rain. Just wish you’d turn down the blasted heat.”

O’Leary’s lips curled in a lopsided grin, which gave his narrow hawk-like face an air of mirthful menace. “Sorry…you know I’m always cold.”

Piquett took off his fedora and wiped his forehead with a wrinkled linen handkerchief. “Yeah, I know. You should go see the doctor about it.”

O’Leary grinned, and Piquett gazed out across South Main Street at the late-Victorian pile that was the Lake County Jail and Courthouse, his eyes scanning the mounted machineguns and the dozens of National Guardsmen manning them behind a four-foot high wall of fifty-pound sandbags.

“You’d think they were expecting the Kaiser’s army,” O’Leary said, chuckling.

“They just don’t know what to make of our client, Arthur. Lord knows, I sometimes wonder about him myself.”

“He doesn’t belong here, that’s for sure,” O’Leary said, shaking his head.

“Unfortunately, his enemies think otherwise. You and I both know he didn’t kill that federal officer.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Piquett stared back at his partner, his dark eyes like flints. “I know what you meant.” The handkerchief came out again. “You take care of the guards, like I asked you?”

O’Leary nodded. “There won’t be a search.”

Piquett patted the left side of his suit jacket. “They find this on me and we’ve got a lot more trouble than we ever bargained for.”

O’Leary shot his partner a look of annoyance. “Nobody’s got a gun to your head, Louis.”

Despite the rumble in his guts, Piquett smiled. “That’s why I like you, Arthur. You always look at the bright side.” He glanced at his watch. “Time to go. Wish me luck.”

O’Leary nodded, and Piquett eased himself out of the Ford and closed the door. He hesitated a moment then leaned in through the open window. “If I’m not out in twenty minutes, you get on out of here. You remember where I put the emergency funds?

“I remember.”

“Good. Keep lookin’ at that bright side, Arthur.”

Piquett slapped the roof of the Ford and strode toward the jail. Passing through the narrow opening in the sandbags, he gave the soldiers a cordial nod, climbed the steps and disappeared into the building.

Following an official clearance, and after passing through a succession of remotely-controlled gates, he stood before the final door separating him from his client. The lone guard, seated at a scarred oak desk, motioned toward the open logbook lying in front of him. Piquett picked up a pen off the blotter and signed his name with a flourish.

“Morning, officer,” he said, handing back the pen.

The guard, a scrawny young man with greasy black hair and a dull look in his eyes, took back the pen with a smirk spreading across his face.

“Yeah, well, it ain’t so good for that client a yours, counselor.”

Piquett’s trial-winning smile widened. “Well, we’re all innocent in the eyes of the law, until proven guilty, officer. That’s the very foundation on which our great and glorious nation resides. Besides, you never know how a day’s going to end, until it’s over.”

The guard frowned, his puzzled expression making him look even less intelligent. “You mind standing back and raising your arms, counselor?” he said. “Gotta search ya.”

Piquett’s stomach rolled over, but he managed to keep the grin plastered to his face, even as he felt the sweat break out anew.

Just then an older guard stuck his head in the doorway.

“He’s clean, Jeff.”

The younger guard’s frown deepened. “But Sheriff Holley said we was to search every visitor ‘fore I pass ‘em through this point.”

The older man leaned into the room, his face flushing. “And I’m tellin’ you he’s clean.”

Piquett watched the tense exchange between the two guards and said a silent prayer.

The younger guard appeared to think about this for a moment, the gears in his mind grinding slowly. Then he sighed and shook his head. “You say he’s clean, Irv, then fine, he’s clean.”

The older guard nodded, giving Piquett a knowing look the younger guard missed then left the room. The younger guard stood and threw the lever that operated the automatic doors. There was a loud “clunk,” followed by the whir of machinery. The door slid open and clanged to a stop.

Another guard appeared on the other side of the open doorway and motioned for Piquett to follow.

They passed through a corridor lined with empty holding cells. At the end of the hall Piquett spotted a wooden chair facing one of the cells. The guard motioned for him to sit. For a fleeting moment, Piquett toyed with the notion of turning around and leaving, going back to the car and driving away–maybe take that vacation he’d always promised himself. But then, whatever was left of his tattered code of ethics took over and he eased himself into the chair.

“Thank you, officer,” he said to the guard. “I’ll let you know when we’re done.

The guard nodded, retraced his steps down the corridor and disappeared around the corner. Piquett kept his eye on the corridor for another moment then turned toward the cell.

His client sat in a matching hardback chair dressed in a white shirt, charcoal-gray vest and matching pants. He was impossibly tall–even sitting down–and impossibly…there. The face he’d grown up admiring, the face that graced the penny and the five-dollar bill now sat watching him with a look of bemusement, gray eyes twinkling in the harsh glow of the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling.

“Good morning, counselor,” Lincoln said in his high, soft-spoken voice.

“Good morning, Mr. President.”

“Please, Mr. Piquett, I do not think it fitting to refer to me by that hallowed moniker, especially when viewed in the harsh light of my present circumstances.”

Piquett felt his face redden. “I’m sorry, sir, you’ll have to forgive me. I much admired your administration, your achievements.”

Lincoln smiled revealing gaps between his teeth. “And while my achievements may make me immortal, I am an inconvenient reality whose presence is a reminder of things some would prefer to forget. As far as those demigods who now reside in Washington are concerned, I am a man out of time and out of step with the problems of the day.”

“I disagree, Mr. Lincoln.”

Lincoln slapped his knee and chuckled. “You know what’s truly ironic, counselor? The tenor of Washington has not changed all that much. I suspect the streets are cleaner and summers are more tolerable nowadays, but those puffed-up politicians have raised backstabbing to a high art. Practice makes perfect. Did you bring it, Mr. Piquett?”

The abrupt shift in the conversation flustered the lawyer for a moment. “Y-yes, sir.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small package wrapped in butcher paper and tied with twine. He handed it through the bars and Lincoln took it with his large, calloused hand. The package disappeared into his pocket.

“Thank you, counselor, you’ve been most helpful. And I appreciate all that you’ve done. I was especially inspired by your performance in the courtroom during my arraignment last month.”

Piquett puffed with pride. “It was an honor, sir. I just wish I could’ve done more.”

Lincoln stood and thrust his hand through the bars. “You’ve done more than any man could ask. If I have need of you again, I will surely call on you.”

The lawyer grasped his client’s hand, feeling the strength in the older man’s grip.

“Where will you go?” Piquett asked.

Lincoln’s expression turned melancholy. “Back into the history books where I belong, counselor…if they’ll let me….”

Ten minutes later, as O’Leary guided the Ford through the crush of late morning traffic, Piquett thought about the small wrapped package he’d given Lincoln and wondered–in spite of his sordid lack of ethics–if he’d done the right thing, after all.

* * *

Jail Handyman Sam Cahoon went cold all over when he felt the barrel of a pistol jabbing into the small of his back. But it was that high voice in his ears that sent his heart racing.

“I’ve got to be going, Sam,” Lincoln said, “and I need your help. Please don’t make me use this. I know only too well what it can do.”

Lincoln guided him over to the locked steel door leading to the adjoining room and motioned for Sam to call out to the guards. A large black man rose from a nearby table where he’d been playing solitaire and joined them. When Sam continued to hesitate, Lincoln kicked the door with his foot, sending a booming sound reverberating around the Day Room, which now fell silent.

“That you, Sam?” came the voice from the other side of the door.

Sam looked to Lincoln, his eyes wide with fright. Lincoln pressed the barrel harder into the handyman’s back and nodded.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Sam said. “I’m done in here.”

“All right,” the voice replied.

A moment later came the rattle of keys and the door swung inward. Lincoln kicked the door hard, sending the startled guard behind it sprawling, then he shoved Sam Cahoon aside and grabbed the guard, who was scrambling to his feet.

“Y-you out of your mind?” the guard sputtered.

“So they tell me, son. Now you go on and get us into the guardroom, and no tricks.”

The guard’s hands trembled, causing him to fumble with the keys. Lincoln jabbed the barrel harder into the guard’s back, eliciting a moan of fear from the man.

“Hurry, now.”

“I g-got it,” the guard said, slapping the key into the lock and twisting it. They burst into the guardroom, where a civilian fingerprint technician and one other guard sat drinking coffee and chewing on jelly donuts, their eyes as round as saucers. Lincoln spotted two Thompsons with fully loaded drum magazines sitting on the windowsill and nodded to the black man.

“Mr. Youngblood, we shall require those fine instruments of destruction.”

The black man chuckled and grabbed them, handing one to Lincoln, who then held up the pistol he’d used for all to see. A sly grin spread across his face. It was a crudely carved wooden gun blackened with shoe polish, the words “Colt .38″ etched into its side.

Both the guard and the fingerprint technician shook their heads in disgust.

Lincoln’s grin widened. “Well, now, it does seem one can fool some of the people all of the time.” He put the wooden gun back into his pocket and waved the barrel of the submachine gun towards the exit door.

“Mr. Youngblood, take this officer to one of the cells.”

“Yes, sir.”

Youngblood manhandled the guard out of the room and returned moments later.

Lincoln looked at the fingerprint technician, who sat frozen, the jelly donut still hanging from his mouth.

“What’s your name, son?” Lincoln asked.

The young technician yanked the donut from his mouth.

“Uh, Ernest Blunk, sir. You gonna shoot me?”

“I have no desire to kill anyone, Mr. Blunk, but I am getting out of here. It’s your choice.” Lincoln’s gaze was implacable and Blunk nodded soberly and stood up.

“All right, gentlemen,” Lincoln said, “shall we take our leave?”

After a short trip down two corridors and one flight of stairs, they emerged into the alley. Lincoln eyed the narrow passageway in both directions, noting the way was clear. He smiled and turned to Blunk, who stood with his arms wrapped around himself, shivering in the cold.

“Where’s the garage, son? The one with the private cars.”

“Down the alley, around the c-corner, behind the courts.”

“Let’s go.”

The garage was in a shed-like building with a sliding wooden door that reminded Lincoln of an old barn. The door shrieked on its rusty rails as Youngblood slid it open. Inside it was toasty warm and reeked of gasoline and spilled oil. A lone mechanic lay under a late-model Chevy, banging away at a water pump and cursing under his breath. Another man sat behind a desk in the small glassed-in office. Just then a woman walked into the garage.

“Mr. Saager, is my car–” She stopped in mid-sentence when she spotted Lincoln and Youngblood wielding the two Thompsons and fainted dead away, her limp body slapping against the grimy concrete.

Youngblood handed his Thompson to Lincoln, picked up the woman and deposited her inside the office on a battered sofa. The black man motioned for the man at the desk to move and the man scrambled out the door with his hands in the air.

“What’s the fastest car in here?” Lincoln asked, handing Youngblood back his Thompson.

The man from the office looked around and nodded toward the mechanic under the Chevy.

“Hudak’d know best.”

“Ask him to join us.”

The man eased over to the Chevy and gave the mechanic’s leg a nudge with his foot.

“What you want, Saager?”

“We got a man here asking about fast cars.”

“What do I look like, a salesman? I’m up to my butt in work here, in case you hadn’t noticed, and I got to get this damn Chevy out of here by two.”

Saager looked to Lincoln and shrugged. Youngblood raised the barrel of his Thompson and Saager paled a few shades whiter. He kicked the mechanic harder and said. “You get on out here, Hudak, if you know what’s good for you.”

The mechanic slid out from under the car, the curses on his lips dying away when he spotted the two men and their machineguns.

“Damn!”

“What’s the fastest car in here?” Lincoln asked.

Hudak jabbed his finger toward a sleek brand-new car parked in a corner, its jet-black paint gleaming under the hooded lights. “That there Ford. Got a real honey of a V-8.”

“That’ll be fine, Mr. Hudak.”

“But that’s Sheriff Holley’s new car.”

Lincoln laughed. “Even better. Mr. Blunk, you will drive. Mr. Hudak, you and your partner will disable all the other vehicles in the garage.”

Hudak looked incredulous.

“Now, Mr. Hudak.”

The mechanic walked toward the Chevy, shaking his head. When he reached the car, he opened the hood and started gingerly pulling wires.

Youngblood rolled his eyes, grabbed a hammer and pushed the mechanic aside. “Not like that–like this.” He swung the hammer down onto the spark plugs one by one, shattering them then pounded holes in the carburetor. He handed the hammer to Hudak. “Now, go to it, my man. Just like the boss says.”

In moments every other car was disabled and Blunk pulled the Sheriff’s car up to the door, the engine revving with a throaty roar. Lincoln and Youngblood climbed in and Lincoln hung his Thompson out the window at Saager and Hudak. Neither man moved.

“All right, Mr. Blunk. Let us proceed.”

The car pulled into the alley and then out onto East Street. Lincoln swiveled his head back and forth, looking to see if anyone followed. “Nice and slow,” he said. “It wouldn’t do to draw attention to ourselves.”

They passed the courthouse and Lincoln smiled when he spotted all the soldiers. They swung around a parked bus and pulled up to a stoplight. A bank sat on one of the corners and Lincoln stared at it. “Mighty tempting to procure us some traveling money, but I think we’ve worn out our welcome here, Mr. Youngblood.”

Yes, sir, Mr. Lincoln,” the black man said, grinning from ear to ear. The light turned green and the car sped out of town. When they reached State Road 8, Lincoln relaxed and began singing an old hymn. His singing voice was surprisingly tuneful and brought a smile even to Blunk’s dour face.

“Where we going, anyway?” Blunk asked when Lincoln had finished singing.

“Wherever the winds of fate shall take us.”

Youngblood laughed as the car sped off down the road.

The Great Emancipator was free.

About the Author

Bill Walker is an award-winning writer whose works include novels, short stories and screenplays.  His first novel, Titanic 2012, was enthusiastically received by readers, and Bill’s two short story collections, Five Minute Frights and Five Minute Chillers, are perennial Halloween favorites.  A highly-respected graphic designer, Walker has worked on books by such luminaries as Ray Bradbury, Richard Matheson, Dean Koontz, and Stephen King.  His most recent novel, A Note from an Old Acquaintance, was published in 2009.

Brian Anthony is a writer and award-winning filmmaker. His first feature film, Victor’s Big Score, was praised by Variety as “A tremendous calling card for writer-producer-director Brian Anthony.” As a writer-producer Anthony has contributed to shows for American Movie Classics, Arts and Entertainment, and Fox Syndication, including Beneath the Planet of the Apes and Lost in Space Forever. A veteran film historian, Anthony has been interviewed on network television regarding film history, and co-authored the acclaimed biography of the film comedian Charley Chase, Smile While the Raindrops Fall, in 1998. Brian is an expert art and book restorationist, and you can see his work at Anthony Restorations.

Tour Participants:

10/05 ~ Showcase, Review & Giveaway @ Deal Sharing Aunt
10/06 ~ Review & Giveaway @ rantin ravin and reading
10/11 ~ Showcase @ CMash Reads
10/16 ~ Review @ Vics Media Room
10/17 ~ Review @ Community Bookstop
10/18 ~ Review & Giveaway @ Gabina49s Blog
10/25 ~ Review & Giveaway @ The Stuff of Success
10/28 ~ Review, Interview & Giveaway @ Bless Their Hearts Mom
10/29 ~ Guest Post, Review & Giveaway @ The book Faery reviews
10/30 ~ Review & Giveaway @ Tales of a Book Addict
11/04 ~ Review & Giveaway @ My Cozie Corner
11/05 ~ Showcase @ Thoughts In Progress
11/06 ~ Review & Giveaway @ Popcorn Reads
11/07 ~ Review @ My Devotional Thoughts
11/08 ~ Review & Giveaway @ Now is Gone
11/11 ~ Review & Giveaway @ WTF Are You Reading?

*Disclaimer* A special thanks goes out to at for a review copy of this book. It in no way influenced my review. You can discuss it here or join my facebook page and discuss it there.

Giveaway – Abe Lincoln: Public Enemy

Thursday, November 14th, 2013

Thanks to Gina at Partners in Crime Tours I”m able to offer my readers 1 e-book copy of this book. To enter, follow these simple rules:

1) One Entry if you’re a follower [You can follow through Google Friend connect to the right, you can also sign up to follow through Twitter or Facebook].
2) An Additonal Entry if you blog about this contest.
3) An Additonal Entry if you’re a new follower.
4) One entry each for posting on facebook and/or twitter.
5) Must leave a comment letting me know how you follow me, blog link to this post, facebook/twitter link, etc.
6) Contest will continue until 11/21/2013.
7) This giveaway is open to residents of US and Canada. No PO Box addresses (street mailing only).

See our review here.

1 people like this post.

Review: Back From the Dead – Peter Leonard

Monday, April 15th, 2013
Paperback: 282 pages
Publisher: Story Plant, The; Reprint edition (January 22, 2013)
Language: English
ISBN-10: ISBN-10: 1611880637
ISBN-13: 978-ISBN-13: 978-1611880632
Order book here:

amazon

Order E-book here:
amazon

Characters:

Ernst Hess – Former Nazi, Mass Killer.
Harry Levi – Holocaust Survivor.

Synopsis:

Peter Leonard’s jaw-dropping VOICES OF THE DEAD introduced us to two mortal enemies: Holocaust survivor Harry Levin and Nazi death angel Ernst Hess. Now, their struggle reaches its dramatic conclusion in BACK FROM THE DEAD.

Bahamas, 1971. Ernst Hess, missing and presumed dead, regains consciousness to find himself stuck in a hospital bed on a strange ward in a foreign country. He must do what he needs to do to get his life back and to finish the job he has been doing for decades.

Harry believes he has already stopped Hess. When he finds out that the war criminal has somehow survived, Harry must do the only thing he can do – kill Hess again – even if it means crossing continents and putting his life and the lives of those that matter to him on the line.

Action-packed and darkly humorous, BACK FROM THE DEAD is the unforgettable conclusion to a story that launches Peter Leonard into the pantheon of great suspense novelists.

Review

A Great Followup to Voices From the Dead. Previously we’d seen Harry Levin dumping the body of Nazi Killer Ernst Hess in the ocean. However, it seems Mr. Hess did not die from his injuries. Now he’s back, leaving more bodies in his path.

I found the book to be well written. The characters were realistic, and Hess had the darkness you’d expect of someone with his background. The majority of the book seems to focus on Hess, with a subplot involving him selling art stolen by the Nazi’s. The murders are brutal, and we get to see his brutality without the author getting too graphic in detail.

One issue is if you haven’t read Voices from the Dead you may feel a little lost in who all the characters are. This definitely picks up at the exact point that Voices left off. I’d recommend reading the first one, before diving into this one, just for a more enjoyable experience.

There is strong language and situations, and it is rated PG-13 for older teens adults. One thing that bothered me in the last book, but seemed like maybe I accepted more in this one, knowing the timeline, was the use of racial epithets. The last time around they just felt out of place, or just struck me harshly, but this time around, if they were used, it didn’t seem to smack me in the face.

Overall a very good thriller with a good plot, and interesting characters. Grab it if you get the chance, and when you read it, stop back by and let us know what you thought.

Excerpt

Harry pulled in the driveway, parked and went in the side door. He expected to see Colette in the kitchen, starting dinner. She was going to make sauerbraten, potato dumplings and red cabbage, an authentic German meal. He’d been thinking about it all day and he was hungry. Colette was a terrific cook, and that was another benefit of living with her. He threw his keys on the counter, hit the message button on the answering machine. Another one from Galina.

“Harry, you going to call me one of these days?”

No, he said to himself. Walked into the foyer, glanced in the den and moved into the living room. Someone was sitting in his leather chair, legs crossed on the ottoman. The man had dark shoulder-length hair and wore black jeans, a white shirt and a black leather jacket.

“I don’t think you’re a burglar,” Harry said, “or you’d be looking for the silver, so tell me what you’re doing in my house?”

“I stopped by your office. We could have handled it there, but you were too busy to see me,” he said with an accent that sounded like he was from Berlin.

“You buying or selling?”

“I am trading.”

“For what?” Although Harry had a pretty good idea.

“Where is Ernst Hess?”

“I’d try his estate in Schleissheim or his apartment in Munich. Maybe start by talking to his family and business associates?”

“I know he came here to see you.”

“Where’s Colette?”

“Safe for now. Tell me about Herr Hess.”

Harry pulled the Colt from under his shirt and aimed it at him. “I’ll tell you what. You want to trade, I’ll trade Colette for you. We can start there, see how it goes.”

“Put the gun away. You are not going to shoot me or you will never find her.”
The guy got up and came toward him. He was tall, six two, six three, and looked like he was in shape. Harry pulled the hammer back with his thumb. “First one’s going to blow out your knee cap. You better hope there isn’t a second one.” That seemed to persuade him. The German froze.

“I’m going to give you another chance. Where’s Colette?”

“Not far from here.”

“Let’s go see how she’s doing.”

“I have to call, tell them we are coming.”

“How many are there?”

“Two.”

“We’re going to surprise them,” Harry said. “And if they’ve done anything to Colette, you’re the first one I’m going to shoot. Believe that if you believe anything. Take off your coat, throw it over here and turn around.” He did and Harry checked the two outside pockets of the jacket, found a parking receipt, and a pair of handcuffs. There was also a piece of notepaper that had an address on Crooks Road in Troy and a phone number. “This where they have Colette?”

In the other pocket he found car keys and a small semi-automatic. He ejected the magazine and put it in his pocket. The German had his back to Harry, looking over his shoulder.

“Take off your clothes. I want to see what else you’ve got.”

The German stripped down to his briefs and tossed everything on the floor at Harry’s feet. Harry picked up the man’s pants and checked the pockets, found the key to the handcuffs and his wallet. Opened it, name Albin Zeller from Munich on the driver’s license.

“You a Nazi, too, Albin?” Harry said.

Zeller, with his back to him, didn’t say anything. He was less threatening now in his underwear, thin legs, pale skin that had never been in the sun.

“Why are you looking for Hess?” He didn’t respond.

“You break in, say you want to talk, but you don’t say anything.” Hess was a wealthy man and a member of the Christian Social Union, an important political figure in Germany. Harry could understand why there were people who wanted him found. Hess must have told someone his plans. Otherwise how would Zeller have been able to follow his trail to Detroit? Harry threw him the handcuffs. “Put them on.”

Zeller turned, caught them, clamped them on his wrists. “Where’s your car?”

“On the street.”

That wasn’t going to work, walking a handcuffed Nazi in his undies out to the car at gunpoint. “All right, let’s go. We’ll take mine.”

“They are expecting a phone call.”

“Well they’re going to be surprised then, aren’t they?”

“What about my clothes?”

“You’re not going to need them.”

“You drive up to the house they will kill her,” Zeller said.

“Then we won’t drive up to the house.”

Harry was parked in the driveway by the side door. It was 5:30 and almost dark. He led Zeller out, popped the trunk, took his eye off the German for a second and Zeller took off, hurdled the neighbor’s fence like a track star and disappeared. Harry started after him and stopped. Went back to the car, closed the trunk and drove to Troy to find Colette.

About the Author

Peter Leonard’s jaw-dropping VOICES OF THE DEAD introduced us to two mortal enemies: Holocaust survivor Harry Levin and Nazi death angel Ernst Hess. Now, their struggle reaches its dramatic conclusion in BACK FROM THE DEAD.

Bahamas, 1971. Ernst Hess, missing and presumed dead, regains consciousness to find himself stuck in a hospital bed on a strange ward in a foreign country. He must do what he needs to do to get his life back and to finish the job he has been doing for decades.

Harry believes he has already stopped Hess. When he finds out that the war criminal has somehow survived, Harry must do the only thing he can do – kill Hess again – even if it means crossing continents and putting his life and the lives of those that matter to him on the line.

Action-packed and darkly humorous, BACK FROM THE DEAD is the unforgettable conclusion to a story that launches Peter Leonard into the pantheon of great suspense novelists.

Visit Peter on his website: http://www.peterleonardbooks.com/  or on facebook here

*Disclaimer* A special thanks goes out to Gina at Partners in Crime Tours for a review copy of this book. It in no way influenced my review. You can discuss it here or join my facebook page and discuss it there.

Review: A New Birth of Freedom: The Translator – Robert G. Pielke

Tuesday, February 26th, 2013
Paperback: 394 pages
Publisher: Whiskey Creek Press (2012)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1611605423
ISBN-13: 978-1611605426
Order book here:

amazon

Order E-book here:
amazon

Characters:

Edwin Blair – History Teacher and Time Traveler from the year 2136.
Abraham Lincoln – 16th President of the United States.

Synopsis:

Noam Chomsky argues that communication with aliens would be impossible. Stephen Hawking argues that it would be extremely unwise even to try. What if it were absolutely necessary to do so? This question arises with extreme urgency at the Battle of Gettysburg in 1863, in this time-travel, alternate-history trilogy, A New Birth of Freedom.

Review

This book continues at the exact point where the previous entry The Visitor ended. We find the characters in search of two “Indians” known as Big Mouth and White Hat. This search wll hopefully enable Blair and the President to communicate with the alien species. This kind of fills in one of the areas that seemed rather weak in the previous book. It was established that the aliens knew things because we wanted them to, but then I had the question, why didn’t Blair just want them to know English. To get around this, the author sets up a chain of communicators that to me really didn’t make sense or serve any purpose except to throw some historical characters in there. I still don’t understand why they couldn’t just learn English.

One thing that I did appreciate in this book, is that we see Blair, who was always disgusted with the idea of how slaves were treated as less than human, showing the same characteristics towards the alien species. In this way, they contrast the two societies and I felt like that was a nice touch and showed that any one of us is capable of carrying some kind of prejudice around.

Overall, outside of a few technical issues I found the story to be enjoyable. I look forward to Volume 3 and finding out how things ended for Mr. Blair and what exactly the Aliens were wanting. For alternate history, Civil War, and sci fi fans, check this book out and be sure to stop back by and let us know what you thought.

About the Author

Robert Pielke, a native of Baltimore, Maryland, now lives in Claremont, California.

He earned a B.A. in History at the University of Maryland, an M. Div. in Systematic Theology at the Lutheran Theological Seminary at Gettysburg, and a Ph. D. in Social Ethics from the Claremont Graduate School.

He taught on ground and online for countless years at George Mason University in Virginia, El Camino College in California and online for the University of Phoenix. As a professor, he published a variety of articles, including an analysis of political labeling (“Political Typology: A Suggested Clarification” – in Reason Papers), a phenomenological depiction of science fiction (“Star Wars vs. 2001: A Question of Identity” – in Extrapolation and elsewhere), an ethical appraisal of humanity’s eventual encounter with extra-terrestrials (“Humans and Aliens: A Unique Relationship” in Mosaic) and an exploration of sex roles (“Are Androgyny and Sexuality Compatible” in Mary Vetterling-Braggin’s “Femininity” “Masculinity” and “Androgyny” – A Modern Philosophical Discussion – Littlefield Adams & Co.).

Now happily retired from “the job,” he is doing what he always wanted to do since he wrote his first novel at ten in elementary school. It was one paragraph, three pages long and, although he didn’t know it at the time, it was alternate history. Since then, in addition to his academic writings in ethics, logic, and popular culture, he has published short stories in Hard Copies and Phoebe, a feature articles in Cinefex, film reviews for Video Update and both fiction and non-fiction books: an analysis of rock music, You Say You Want a Revolution: Rock Music in American Culture, a boring academic treatise, Critiquing Moral Arguments, a savagely satirical novel on America and its foibles, proclivities and propensities, Hitler the Cat Goes West, and an alternate history, science fiction novel, The Mission.

Most recently, he has updated and revised his book on rock music and it is being republished by McFarland & Co. as Rock Music in American Culture: The Sounds of Revolution. Alternate Dimensions Press has published A New Birth of Freedom: The Visitor, the first book of an alternate history/time-travel/first-contact science-fiction trilogy. The second of the three, The Translator, is soon to be released.

He swims daily, skis occasionally, cooks as an avocation, watches innumerable movies, collects rock and roll concert films, is an avid devotee of Maryland crabs and maintains a rarely visited blog filled with his social and political ravings. His favorite film is the original Hairspray; his favorite song is “A Day in the Life;” his favorite pizza is from the original Ledo Restaurant in College Park, MD; and he is a firm believer in the efficacy of “sex, drugs and rock and roll.” Somehow his family and friends put up with him.

*Disclaimer* A special thanks goes out to Nicole at Tribute Book Tours for a review copy of this book. It in no way influenced my review. You can discuss it here or join my facebook page and discuss it there.

Review: A New Birth of Freedom: The Visitor – Robert G. Pielke

Tuesday, February 26th, 2013
Paperback: 226 pages
Publisher: Altered Dimensions Press; 2nd edition (August 15, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: ISBN-10: 1936021234
ISBN-13: 978-ISBN-13: 978-1936021239
Order book here:

amazon

Characters:

Edwin Blair – History Teacher and Time Traveler from the year 2136.
Abraham Lincoln – 16th President of the United States.

Synopsis:

It has taken centuries to recognize that all humans possess certain unalienable rights. There will come a time when we have to consider whether others deserve those rights as well. That time will come on July 3, 1863.

When a stranger carrying a shiny, metallic valise steps aboard a train carrying Abraham Lincoln home from a two year stint in Congress, everyone stares, wondering about the stranger’s odd clothing and strange footwear with the word Nike emblazoned on them.

When the strange man shows up in Lincoln’s office at the White house 14 years later, still wearing the same clothes, carrying the same valise and looking not a day older, the president and his staff know something is odd.

But when Edwin Blair opens his valise and projects a 3D image of the Earth on Lincoln’s wall, then proceeds to tell a fanciful tale about time traveling aliens preparing to land at Gettysburg on July 3rd, they are sure they’ve met a lunatic.

Unfortunately for them, they’re wrong.

A New Birth of Freedom: The Visitor, is the first book in a new science fiction series that follows the adventures of Edwin Blair and the aliens known as Pests as they chase each other through all the centuries of Earth’s past.

Review

I found this book to be an enjoyable adventure into America’s past, in this case The Battle of Gettysburg, this time though, there are Aliens involved. I liked Mr. Pielke’s character development and the story line kept me involved. Having been my first exposure to alternative history stories, I found it to be pretty enjoyable.

If there were one drawback, it turned out to be communication. It was determined that the aliens learned things basically through us wanting them to know it. With that in mind, I found myself wondering why the characters didn’t just want the Aliens to know English instead of other languages.

Outside of that drawback though, I think if you are a civil war buff or a fan of alternative histories, then you might want to give A New Birth of Freedom: The Vistor a shot. I’d definitely recommend it for a fun weekend read.

Excerpt
Prologue

Edwin Blair (July 6, 1863)

Edwin Blair’s headache ebbed and flowed as remnants of what-used-to-be clashed with the influx of what-now-is deep in the cavernous recesses of his mind. At least, he thought, as my memory evaporates in the passage of time, I should expect the rebellion of one against the other to do me less and less harm. Although no one was looking at him at the moment as he leaned against a shady tree, were they to do so they would perhaps have noticed a hint of bitterness on his visage as the word “time” passed through his ruminations. He had neither expected nor wanted any of the Pests to survive. For as long as he could remember, his mantra had been—and he chanted it to himself—the only good Pest is a dead Pest. With all of them dead, he reasoned, a new future would develop without the horrors these Pests would mete out. They simply wouldn’t exist in this modified future. But he soon realized this would bring about a self-defeating dilemma. They have to invade the planet where and when I come from. Otherwise, I’d never have come back to the past to stop them in the first place. He clenched his teeth at the thought and sighed. We can’t kill them all. Maybe that’s why previous attempts to change the future have failed—if there were any. It’s just not possible to exterminate them. Logic trumps everything. The surviving Pests change things. If they somehow escape and warn the all the others about what I’m doing, they could prevent me from doing anything at all, and I’d have to start all over. But I have to do something. He shuddered and looked off toward the fourteen imprisoned Pests. There’s one thing I know for sure, however. We don’t need their eggs.

With his valise safely stowed with President Lincoln’s personal belongings and guarded around the clock, he was reasonably confident the mission could be salvaged. But how? He adjusted his back against the trunk of the tree as an early morning mist became an un-refreshing drizzle, and turned the collar of his black leather jacket up around his ears. At least it’s quiet, he mouthed while scribbling into one of the notebooks he had given to John Hay. Using an unfamiliar quill pen, his words only on occasion approaching legibility, he wrote.

Everything now depends on you following through with your plan. You may have lied to the others about your intentions, but you can’t lie to me. If you are reading this, then we have been successful.

At least I think so. He looked up again, put the pen into the inkwell filled with a pale pink liquid sitting on the ground next to him and rubbed his eyes. Then again…will I even believe I wrote this to myself? He picked up the pen and tried to smile, looking this time toward several of his companions that were getting ready to consume coffee and a few hardtack biscuits, perhaps even some pudding. He nodded to them before returning to his journal.

Only the continuing threat of the Pests still lurking in the two prisms is supporting this truce. It’s more fragile than it appears. They think the danger is over, but it’s just begun.

John Hay noticed Blair’s glance from several paces away and pointed to his own steaming cup of coffee with raised eyebrows. He shouted, “Mr. Blair, can I get you some?”

“ Please.” Blair kept the volume of his own voice down, relying on an accompanying nod to be sufficient.

“ No hardtack yet, but there’s sugar. I’ll be back soon.” Hay strode off with Joseph Pierce at his side.

“ Thanks, John,” Blair muttered as he watched the two of them depart. Pierce was waving his arms with some sort of patterned repetition—no doubt trying to explain some complex Indian phraseology he thought might be useful. Washburne, Stanton and Pinkerton were nowhere to be seen. Probably already with Lincoln in his tent. He returned to his writing.

If I’ve really succeeded, then all these changes should be reflected in the historical records on the computer—the fight with the Pests and this truce—but if not then something’s gone terribly wrong.

He stopped writing for a moment and shook his head. I’ve got to get back into the computer soon. I shouldn’t have even turned it off. I don’t like logging in while people are watching. I should probably change the pass-code, but it’s based on my wife’s birth date so I’m not likely to forget it. Should I take the chance?

The only thing I know that’s changed is my memory. The historical records may not have changed at all, but I’m slowly losing my memory of them…and everything else too, it seems. My guess is that the changes I’ve made to the history I used to know so well are rapidly affecting future events—too rapidly. As a result, my memory about them is no longer referring to anything, yet it continues to try.

The sounds of hooves slogging through the rain-soaked grass and the clattering of wagons startled him but didn’t interrupt his writing.

The courier traffic is beginning to intensify, and as the circus gets larger it will become unmanageable. Maybe today Lincoln will issue the martial law decree he promised…or threatened…depending on one’s perspective.

He wasn’t planning to write much—just enough for his words to be a reminder of what he had to do. If I have to try again, I have to make sure these same people are included…did I write that list of four names to myself on a previous attempt? Was it me? If so, nothing has changed. Am I just repeating everything over and over in an infinite circularity? He paused and looked over what he wrote. How can I know? Have I written this before? I have no memory of earlier attempts…but that means nothing.

He stopped and pulled the list out of his jacket to look at it. The same as it used to be…or is it? How would I know? He drew a deep breath while rubbing his temples, his teeth gritted. I really have to find out somehow if any changes have occurred in the future. I have to get into the computer. I just may have to start over immediately. Another interruption ended his contemplation.

“ Mr. Blair! You’re in luck. There was fresh coffee…genuine coffee, to boot! I watched a soldier crush the beans with a rifle butt. And there were a few hardtack puddings, too.” John Hay trudged through the sodden grass, placed the steaming cup and plate on a rock behind Edwin Blair, and then put his hands on his hips. “’Tis good to have the Tycoon amongst us, though he’s a bit jarred by the Hellcat’s carriage accident a few days ago. But, as suspected, Mrs. Lincoln has earned her reputation. The very ground she fell upon was too terrified of her to do her any serious injury.” Then, laughing, he added while looking skyward once more, “How are you this gloomy morn? It may rain again, judging from the clouds.”

“ I’m puzzled, John.” Blair picked up the coffee then paused to shake his head.

“ As you usually are, sir…. Why this time?”

“ It’s that…” Blair took a swig of the black brew. “Yeow!” He promptly spit it out. “It’s scalding!” People nearby glanced over at him, shocked at the sound. “And it tastes terrible.”

Hay laughed and shook his head. “I never did see anyone quaff hot coffee before. Quaffing’s for cold beer. And it tastes better too.”

Blair swirled his tongue around the roof of his mouth, wincing and muttering curses under his breath. After a moment, he ventured a much smaller sip. “When I first met you in the President’s office, if you had remembered me being here before, that would have been very odd, right?”

“ It sure would have, Mr. Blair! It would have been impossible!” Hay rolled back, laughing. “No one remembers you from before. You were a real top sockdolager to us all then.”

Blair eyed Hay directly and just above a whisper said, “Someone remembers me.”

Hay scrunched his brow. “Who?”

Blair inclined his head toward the prisoners’ enclosure. “That Pest.”

About the Author

Robert Pielke, a native of Baltimore, Maryland, now lives in Claremont, California.

He earned a B.A. in History at the University of Maryland, an M. Div. in Systematic Theology at the Lutheran Theological Seminary at Gettysburg, and a Ph. D. in Social Ethics from the Claremont Graduate School.

He taught on ground and online for countless years at George Mason University in Virginia, El Camino College in California and online for the University of Phoenix. As a professor, he published a variety of articles, including an analysis of political labeling (“Political Typology: A Suggested Clarification” – in Reason Papers), a phenomenological depiction of science fiction (“Star Wars vs. 2001: A Question of Identity” – in Extrapolation and elsewhere), an ethical appraisal of humanity’s eventual encounter with extra-terrestrials (“Humans and Aliens: A Unique Relationship” in Mosaic) and an exploration of sex roles (“Are Androgyny and Sexuality Compatible” in Mary Vetterling-Braggin’s “Femininity” “Masculinity” and “Androgyny” – A Modern Philosophical Discussion – Littlefield Adams & Co.).

Now happily retired from “the job,” he is doing what he always wanted to do since he wrote his first novel at ten in elementary school. It was one paragraph, three pages long and, although he didn’t know it at the time, it was alternate history. Since then, in addition to his academic writings in ethics, logic, and popular culture, he has published short stories in Hard Copies and Phoebe, a feature articles in Cinefex, film reviews for Video Update and both fiction and non-fiction books: an analysis of rock music, You Say You Want a Revolution: Rock Music in American Culture, a boring academic treatise, Critiquing Moral Arguments, a savagely satirical novel on America and its foibles, proclivities and propensities, Hitler the Cat Goes West, and an alternate history, science fiction novel, The Mission.

Most recently, he has updated and revised his book on rock music and it is being republished by McFarland & Co. as Rock Music in American Culture: The Sounds of Revolution. Alternate Dimensions Press has published A New Birth of Freedom: The Visitor, the first book of an alternate history/time-travel/first-contact science-fiction trilogy. The second of the three, The Translator, is soon to be released.

He swims daily, skis occasionally, cooks as an avocation, watches innumerable movies, collects rock and roll concert films, is an avid devotee of Maryland crabs and maintains a rarely visited blog filled with his social and political ravings. His favorite film is the original Hairspray; his favorite song is “A Day in the Life;” his favorite pizza is from the original Ledo Restaurant in College Park, MD; and he is a firm believer in the efficacy of “sex, drugs and rock and roll.” Somehow his family and friends put up with him.

*Disclaimer* A special thanks goes out to Nicole at Tribute Book Tours for a review copy of this book. It in no way influenced my review. You can discuss it here or join my facebook page and discuss it there.

Review: My Sanctuary – Sarah-Jane Lehoux

Tuesday, October 9th, 2012
E-Book
Publisher: Vagabondage Press LLC (May 14, 2012)
Language: English
ISBN-10:
ISBN-13: 978-
Order E-book here:

amazon

Characters:

Rebecca Delores Kingsley – 14 Year old Orphan.
Mother McDonald – Nun at Orphanage.
Kenneth Booker – Nine Year Old Orphan.
Billy Richmond – Male Orphan.

Synopsis:

This is a rather short novella, about 29 pages long, but is a very interesting story. Rebecca is 14 and takes on Kenny as a rather surrogate son. She introduces him to a place she discovered that she calls Sanctuary. This is a place where they aren’t bothered by the rest of the world, and can escape the abusive nun at the orphange in which they live.

Review

I was very sympathetic to these characters. I found them to fit well within the time period and within their ages. I found the story to be one that to some might bring up painful memories. If you are interested in a dramatic, quick read, then pick up this book, I think you’ll enjoy it. Beware though that it has themes of rape, child abuse, and sexual abuse. For that I’d rather it for adults or much older teens.

I liked the story, and found the way things were dealt with fairly realistic for the most part, and would like to see more of the characters outside this storyline.

About the Author

Sarah-Jane Lehoux has always had a passion for storytelling. From grade school tales of cannibalistic ghosts, to teenaged conversations with God, to her rebellion against adulthood with fantasy kingdoms and fairy magic, she has attempted to share her love of the quirky and unconventional with her readers.

She currently resides in Southern Ontario with her husband and her horde of Machiavellian cats. In addition to her own writing, Sarah-Jane works as an editor and freelance cover artist.

You can discuss it here or join my facebook page and discuss it there.

Interview: Giacomo Giammatteo

Thursday, August 30th, 2012

Rhodes Review: Who were some of your favorite characters in Murder Takes Time?

Giacomo Giammatteo: My favorite character was Nicky. I had the most difficult time writing him, which is probably why I liked him so much.  After that, I think Mamma Rosa.

Rhodes Review: Which of your characters would you most/least to invite to dinner, and why?

Giacomo Giammatteo: Mamma Rosa because she cooks such magnificent meals. Johnny Much because he’d be frightening to have in your house. At any time, let alone dinner.

Rhodes Review: What would your ideal career be, if you couldn’t be an author?

Giacomo Giammatteo: An editor, but if we limit choices to something outside the publishing business, then I’d have to say something dealing with helping animals or kids.

Rhodes Review: When did you first realize you wanted to be a writer?

Giacomo Giammatteo: Not until late in life. When my youngest son was a teenager, we started reading fantasy books together. When we finished, we’d discuss them, talk about plots, characters, what we would have done differently. That led to us saying, “hey, we could write one of these.” And so we did, although being a teenager, he quit on me after we plotted out the first one. By then, though, I was hooked.

Rhodes Review: How long does it take you to write a book?

Giacomo Giammatteo: That’s a loaded question. I can usually write the first draft pretty fast. I did this book in two months. But…and this is the key, it takes a lot of time after the first draft to get it to the point where you say, “Okay, this is ready for publication.”

Rhodes Review: What is your work schedule like when you’re writing?

Giacomo Giammatteo: My days are hectic, and yet, organized. My wife and I have an animal sanctuary with 41 animals, so I get up early—6:30 or so—feed some of the animals, do some work with Twitter, Facebook, Goodreads, etc… then go to work on my normal job. I take off in mid-afternoon to do the primary feeding of our animals, then back to work. I quit work around 6:00, go inside to eat, spend more time doing social media things, and then spend a few precious minutes with my wife. After she goes to bed, I write until late at night.

Rhodes Review: What would you say is your interesting writing quirk?

Giacomo Giammatteo: If you mean writing process, it’s probably writing with loud music and several dogs beside me. If you mean regarding the books’ content, I’d say it would be that I put my animals in all my books.  There is always a character/animal that is represented.

Rhodes Review: What are some of your favorite authors/books?

Giacomo Giammatteo: Favorite book of all time is The Count of Monte Cristo, by Alexandre Dumas. Modern day, I’d have to say Frank Hebert, author of Dune, and in the mystery category, John Sandford’s Prey novels.

Rhodes Review: I know you are bringing back Rat and Bugs in the next book, can you provide any details?

Giacomo Giammatteo: I’m not one to spoil things for readers. About all I can say is that it will be another dual plot line, and will take place in Brooklyn and Wilmington.

Rhodes Review: What were some writers who influenced you?

Giacomo Giammatteo: Dumas for his storytelling. Sandford for his brevity. Hebert for his meticulous attention to detail. I can’t compare to any of them, but I strive to get there.

Rhodes Review: What was your favorite part of the book?

Giacomo Giammatteo: When the kids were young. I loved writing that, mostly because the majority of it was real.

Rhodes Review: What was the hardest part to write in the book?

Giacomo Giammatteo: Some of the death scenes. I don’t mean the murders, but the ones where the good guys died. I had to dig deep for those emotions, and it took more than I thought it would.

Rhodes Review: What do you wish was different about the book?

Giacomo Giammatteo: This is a difficult question because I don’t want to sound like an ass, but I really am happy with the book. I don’t think I’d change it.

Review: Back to Bataan – Jerome Charyn

Tuesday, August 14th, 2012
Publisher: Tribute Books
English
Order e-book here:
amazon

Characters:

Jack Dalton – 11 Year old dealing with death of Father in WW2.
Mauricette – Jack’s Fiancee.

Synopsis:

Jack is a precocious 11 year old living in New York in 1943. His father was killed in WW2 and Jack dreams of becoming a soldier like his father. His world begins to unravel when he has to write a composition for his private school. In it he mentions his engagement to his friend Mauricette. She breaks it off with him, and embarasses him in front of the whole class. He then accidentally sets fire to a rival’s house, which propels him into a dangerous adventure.

Review

I found some of the themes of this similar to Tom Sawyer or the Home Alone movies, though not necessarily with all the humor. But you have a young boy embarking into the world on adventures he’s not yet prepared for.

I liked the characters and liked the story. The pacing went quick, and possibly a little too quick. A lot of story was packed into only 80 pages. I think this led to the story moving along a little quicker than it should have and maybe not delving as deep into the characters. I’d like to have seen more into Hans head, Jack’s mother, etc. and seen the relationship with the vagrants drawn out a bit without seeming so rushed.

Overall, for you readers, I’d recommend this, though I’d say 13 or so would be the most appropriate age. Some of it may be a little dark for younger readers.

Excerpt

Mauricette told Harriet Godwin I was the pig of the class. I had treated her like garbage. Mauricette wouldn’t answer my phone calls. She wouldn’t read the notes I dropped inside her desk. But Arturo Fink kept reminding her who she was. “Fiancée,” he said. “Jack’s fiancée.”

I promised myself I wouldn’t write anymore compositions, but how could I graduate from Dr. Franklin’s class and join General MacArthur?

It felt lonely without a fiancée.

Mauricette began seeing Barnaby Rosenstock after school. They were holding hands and having chocolate malteds at the Sugar Bowl on Seventy-ninth Street. Fat Arturo was eating two ice-cream sodas. The Sugar Bowl is our hangout. It’s the official candy store of Dutch Masters Day School. I didn’t have money for ice-cream sodas. I didn’t have money for malteds. I’d buy a Hershey bar or some Chuckles once a week. I’d peek at the comic book rack and wonder what was happening to Captain Marvel or the Sub-Mariner. Marvel and the Sub-Mariner were already at war, fighting Japs. And when Mauricette was still my fiancée, I’d sit with her over a glass of water and treat her to some candy whenever I could. But now she was sucking malteds with Barnaby Rosenstock. I could hear her from my corner, next to the comic book rack.

“Oh, Jack Dalton,” she said. “He has a wild imagination. He likes to fling words around. He thinks half the school is going to marry him.”

She didn’t have to shame me in front of her friends. Arturo was laughing into his fat cheeks. Barnaby had a chocolate rainbow on his lips. I didn’t even bother with the comic books. Marvel would have to fight the Japs without me. I walked home.

Mama was at the factory. She makes parachutes. Sometimes she’d bring home a little piece of silk left over from one of the chutes. That’s how I get my handkerchiefs. Not even Arturo with all his father’s money has a handkerchief of genuine silk. But handkerchiefs couldn’t make me feel good. Silk is only silk. I wondered about the American fliers who had their planes shot down and had to fall into the dark wearing some of that silk.

I couldn’t concentrate on my homework. It didn’t seem important when you considered all the Japs and Germans out there. I hope General MacArthur takes me with him to Bataan. I’m not asking for a Purple Heart. I’m only asking to kill Japs. And if I have to die, I want to die near my dad…

Mama came home at seven. The streets from my window looked so dark, I thought the world had gone gray. I didn’t care. I wouldn’t mind going to school after midnight.

“Darling,” Mama said, “what’s wrong?”

I couldn’t tell her how I lost a fiancée, because she would have figured I was insane.

“Mama, I’m blue…that’s all.”

“You’re still dreaming of the Army, aren’t you? We’ll have dinner and listen to the radio, my little blue boy.”

We had soup and bread and boiled potatoes and peas out of a can. It’s not Mama’s fault if meat is rationed and sugar is rationed. No one can inherit ration stamps, not even the President or Arturo’s dad.

We listened to Jack Benny. He played the violin and talked about the Japs. Mama laughed, because Jack Benny is the biggest miser in the world. He would never spend a nickel. But he told everybody to buy war bonds.

“What about you, Mr. Benny?”

Mama told me it was time for bed.

I put on my pajamas. But I didn’t feel like sleeping. I dialed Mauricette’s number and let the telephone ring. Somebody picked up the phone.

“It’s me,” I said. “Jack Dalton. Your former fiancé. Coco, are you there? I wanted to—”

Mauricette hung up. And I wondered who was lonelier. The dead cowboys on Bataan, or young Jack Dalton.

About the Author

Jerome Charyn (born May 13, 1937) is an award-winning American author. With nearly 50 published works, Charyn has earned a long-standing reputation as an inventive and prolific chronicler of real and imagined American life. Michael Chabon calls him “one of the most important writers in American literature.”

New York Newsday hailed Charyn as “a contemporary American Balzac,” and the Los Angeles Times described him as “absolutely unique among American writers.”

Since 1964, he has published 30 novels, three memoirs, eight graphic novels, two books about film, short stories, plays and works of non-fiction. Two of his memoirs were named New York Times Book of the Year. Charyn has been a finalist for the PEN/Faulkner Award for Fiction. He received the Rosenthal Award from the American Academy of Arts and Letters and has been named Commander of Arts and Letters by the French Minister of Culture.

Charyn lives in Paris and New York City.

eBook
ISBN: 9780985792206
ISBN: 9781476119076
Pages: 98
Release: July 1, 2012

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