Like any helpful guide, The Green City Market Cookbook begins by telling us a story, the history of the market’s origins.
In the broad scope of an epic journey, Ella Leya’s The Orphan Sky begins with a fairy-tale innocence, a picture-perfect world of a privileged child with a rose-colored gloss of naiveté standing between her and communism.
Schuitema writes a relevant story of current events that makes Haymaker’s name seem flexible, as if it could become that of any small town across America. A read to pair with classic works of Paine, maybe a bit of Orwell and most certainly with Rand, Schuitema’s first novel resonates as a real-life American example of the current and changing state of democracy, and what real American’s across demographics believe that term to mean.
The stage brought to mind a different time, when a tall man with a Chaplin mustache maybe pulled a rabbit from his top hat. Popcorn popped before the show and filled nearly every hand with a small bag and made the open room smell like warm butter.
Inside of a small, old and musky movie theater, seated in a well-worn red cushion, I watched The Bridges of Madison County. I was somewhere between 12 and 13 years old.
In the simplest terms, Amy Leach is fun. She gives us goats that are pioneering flexible survivalists and Pandas that are ever-dwindling loyal traditionalists. She invites us to “come and miss the boat with me” in a place where music dances people and beavers save us from “bladderworts and mudpuppies.”
These character-driven stories examine topics such as office power dynamics, irrational animal fears, elf genocide at the North Pole, Dorito and porn addiction, nonsexual affairs, and how to be a “woman of peace.” But this is just a sampling, a taste-testing stroll through the Costco warehouse of Mozina’s Quality Snacks.
On the opposite end of the courtship time spectrum, (the beginning), are the two younger Bennet sisters. Lydia and Catherine exemplify one representation of a woman's entrance into the world. At first, they move like moths to the red coats of officers. They flutter from house to house and their conversations revolve around nothing else.
Lemon-eating vampires in periwinkle button-ups and loose suspenders soak up some sun and weigh the pros and cons of immortal marriage. Duty-bound and beholden young girls transform into human silkworms and feed Japan’s famished silk industry while secretly weaving a revolution.
Travel the dark and shimmering waters into the sweltering South with Angel, pick up a few pieces of quasi-historical trivia, and know, with an anxiously decadent delight, that soul-shaping secrets of New Orleans and the bayous beyond await.
Put on your war paint and get ready for a funny, funny, bang, bang range of emotion as you sit down by a smoky campfire with Alexie. His game is juxtaposition, and Alexie is an all-star athlete, not to mention a living literary legend.
“The Daughters of Mars” does not present itself as a mystery novel, yet as the last chapters pass and the remaining pages turn, the reader becomes aware that a mystery is what we have been reading all along. The shocking turn of events which conclude the novel, as Keneally puts it, “goes to show how many ways there are of being human.”
The undercurrent of revolutionary art-speech flows through American literature as if on its own quest for self-determination. Echoes of dissent strengthen over time, reverberate through history, government, literature and answer the question of religious autonomy in America.