I review every single book I read on Goodreads, and review occasionally on Amazon and Book Bub as well. And I’m very stingy with 5-star reviews. I’m an old-fashioned reader. I love skilled use of the English language, but I don’t enjoy books that use language so creatively that it feels show-offy, and beautiful language isn’t enough for me. To earn five stars from me, a book must have a disciplined, well-paced plot, fascinating or relatable characters, and an overarching theme that I find inspiring or at least very interesting. I read over fifty books this year. Here are the five that warranted 5-star reviews.

THE EVENING AND THE MORNING by Ken Follett

England, in the year 997. Edgar is a young boatbuilder who barely escapes death when the Vikings raid his harbor town. His family loses all that they have in the raid, and they migrate further inland, to scratch out a living farming in a town dominated by a lazy ferryman and a corrupt priest. 

Normandy, the same year. Ragna is a smart, headstrong, beautiful noblewoman. She could marry the wealthy French baron chosen for her by her doting parents, but chooses instead a dashing Englishman nobleman, Wilwulf, who visits her father to seek a treaty that will protect the English coast from the Vikings.  Ragna finds friends, enemies and danger in her new life in England.

I’ve often found that prequels are disappointing. But this prequel to Follett’s masterful The Pillars of the Earth is very worthy. Ragna, Edgar, the principled monk Aldred, Wilwulf’s wicked brothers, the slave girl Blod, and others, are all vivid characters with passions and motivations of their own. Their conflicts are expertly developed, and keep the reader turning pages.

As in Pillars of the Earth, Follett takes the side of the people who are builders and dreamers, lawmakers and rule-followers, people who help others and make the world a better place. They often are punished by men who want power for the sake of power, and who thrive on chaos and disorder. But, at least in the world Follett creates, they prevail in the end. A comforting tale for our times – and a warning of what a lawless world can be like.

A PRAYER FOR OWEN MEANY by John Irving

Owen Meany has a birth defect that left him with unusually small stature and a grating falsetto voice. His story is narrated by his best friend, Johnny Wheelwright.

Johnny and Owen grow up in New Hampshire in the 1950s and 60s. The story opens with a tragedy: Owen’s one good hit in Little League strikes Johnny’s mother in the head and kills her. This sets Owen and Johnny on a years-long quest to discover the identity of Johnny’s father, which his mother never revealed. Meanwhile, Johnny is raised by his grandmother and his loving step-father.

Owen’s family is odd, and Owen has an odd aversion to them, so Owen is also taken under the wing of Johnny’s grandmother and step-father. His height and voice aren’t the only strange things about Owen. He is exceptionally smart, self-confident, and bossy – and he is eerily prescient and wise. Fairly early in the book, he starts insisting that he has foreknowledge of the date of his death and he has a recurring dream that he believes foretells how he will die. And it develops that his father has a startling notion about how Owen was conceived.

This story takes some patience. First, it’s a long book, so it is a commitment. Second, it isn’t told quite chronologically. It bears careful reading, to keep track of what happened when. Third, it is just odd. It was hard for me to tell what it was even about until half-way through. I thought maybe it was a coming-of-age story, but it is so much more than that. My patience was well-rewarded. I absolutely loved this book by the end.

A truly great novel is either timeless or perfectly of its time. This one was a little of both. Taking placing in the 50s and 60s, and written in 1989, it also uncannily foresees our own time.

FOR THE LOVE OF IRELAND edited by Susan Cahill

A friend in my Irish dancing group lent this book to me.  It’s a literary travel guide to Ireland, highlighting Irish authors from pre-history through current day, from each of the nation’s provinces and counties.   Cahill prefaces each piece with some background on the author, and follows each with a small travelogue to places of significance either to the author or in their work 

As with any anthology, I didn’t like every single work that was included.  For example, I will just never be a James Joyce fan.  But the pieces I did like, I really, really loved, which is why the book rates 5 stars from me.  Although I love the English language, I don’t generally read for beauty of language, which is probably why I’m not a big poetry reader, even though I am the mother of a poet.  I like story; I read mostly for character and plot.  But the language in some of the pieces in this book literally took my breath away:  how Roddy Doyle just nails the lilt, cadence and quirks of Dublin’s dialect, the crystal beauty Seamus Heaney brings to the simple memory of his father digging peat, Joyce Cary’s dreamlike description of the landscape of his childhood. 

I added several books to my reading list, thanks to this sampling, and feel inspired to return to Ireland to see some of the wonders that we missed on our first trip there in 2014. 

THE GIRL WITH THE LOUDING VOICE by Abi Dare

Adunni is a 14-year-old girl growing up in a village in Nigeria.  Before she died, her mother gave her a strong sense of her value and a passion for education.  But let’s just say that her father is not quite as energetic and devoted to his children as her mother was.  When the family’s finances deteriorate, Adunni’s father ends her education and sells her in marriage to a much older man, Mofufu, who already has two wives.

The senior wife, Labake, treats Adunni cruelly, but she finds a friend in the second wife, Khadija.  When tragedy befalls Khadija, Adunni is involved and must flee both Mofufu’s house and her home village.  An unscrupulous broker sells her into domestic servitude in Lagos in the house of successful businesswoman Big Madam and her useless alcoholic husband, Big Daddy. 

Adunni is a true heroine.  She never loses her strong sense of self-worth.  Her work ethic and her cheerful, friendly disposition win her friends who can help her in spite of her seemingly hopeless circumstances.  

Adunni’s magnificent voice is the heart of the novel.  Dare made the risky choice to write in the sort of pidgin English that a Yoruba teenager like Adunni might actually speak, and it was a brilliant choice.  Her unique use of language both strengthens the reader’s sense of entry into a different culture and supports Adunni’s vibrant personality. 

The disgraceful treatment of women in a Nigerian culture transforming from traditional to modern is unsparingly portrayed.  Even Big Madam and Adunni’s mentor, Ms. Tia, are not immune to its blows. It is a testament to Adunni’s inner strength and goodness that she recognizes this, has compassion for it, and wants to dedicate her life to changing it. 

A wonderful book, with one of the most unique, likable and admirable heroines I’ve read in a while.

THE GLITTERING HOUR by Iona Grey

London in 1925.  Britain is still stunned and reeling from the catastrophic loss of life in WWI, and a new generation of Bright Young Things is determined to cast off the failed conventions of the past and heedlessly live for the moment. Selina Lennox is among the Brightest.  Her life is changed one spring night by a chance meeting with a poor young artist.

Fast-forward to 1936.  Selina’s shy daughter Alice has been left with her cold grandparents and Nazi governess in her mother’s ancestral house while her parents travel to Burma on business.  Her only friends are the family’s gardener Patterson and Selina’s former maid Polly.  Alice lives for the occasional letter from her beloved mother.  Selina has sent her on a treasure hunt, and each letter contains a clue.  But her mother has kept some secrets that don’t fit in boxes or jewelry cases.

The story is told on alternating timelines, between 1925 and 1936, with occasional perspective changes.  The shifts of perspective and timeline are very well-handled, and the secrets slowly and expertly revealed.  We are always just a few steps ahead of young Alice and at each step we are allowed the sad pleasure of watching her discover what we have already figured out.

An absorbing and heartbreaking read. 

Here’s to great reading in 2021! Here are some links to books that almost made my cut with 4-start reviews:

The Testaments

Why The Dutch Are Different

News of the World

Lady of the Rivers

American Dirt

Readers sometimes ask me about the religious themes in The Saint’s Mistress.  I admit that I struggled with this aspect of the book.

I’m a Christian, but I didn’t write the book to evangelize for Christianity.  I wrote it to tell a story that I thought was interesting.

Augustine and Christianity

Of course, when you’re writing about Saint Augustine, you can’t avoid the topic of religion!  And one of the things that made me want to tell this story was that it takes place in at an interesting period in Church history, and one that is little-explored in fiction:  that turning point right after Christianity became the state religion, as the early Church established orthodoxy and battled the last vestiges of paganism, that hinge between the ancient and medieval worlds.

I took Augustine at his word in portraying his spiritual journey.  He well described in the Confessions how he was entranced first by the pagan philosophers, then by Manicheism, then by neo-Platonism, before accepting Christianity.  I portray him as a young man of enthusiasms, a passionate seeker of truth. He ultimately became the great leader he longed to be only when he attached himself to something larger than himself.  I’ll put it out there:  my position, as a Christian, is that God made use of him.  But you could also read my portrayal of him as a man who came into his own as he matured and subsumed his ego in a larger cause.  Again, I was not trying to evangelize.  I was trying to portray my character in a way that was true to my understanding of him.

My writing and Christianity

I could take Leona in any direction I wanted, since she left no record of herself.  And, as with Augustine, I tried to write her true to how I imagined her.

Inevitably, though, my Christian bias probably comes through, and I don’t apologize for that.  One of the things I’m interested in doing in my writing is to explore questions of faith.  Plenty of books portray Christianity in a cynical light.  And plenty of Christian fiction portrays Christianity completely uncritically:  Jesus fixes everything, The End. I plan a future post on my objections to Christian fiction.  What I try to do is write from the questions, not from either cynical or uncritical answers.

See previous blog posts on why I wrote my book:

Part two of a story wherein a very amateur writer who is already too busy feels compelled to write a novel about Saint Augustine and his mistress…. (Read part one HERE)

The Writing Process for The Saint’s Mistress

I had an opening scene in a pear orchard, based on an experience Augustine describes in the Confessions. Other than that, all I had was an irrational passion to tell this ghost-woman’s story.  I borrowed more books from the library, and stayed up late doing internet research.  In our crowded household, there was no quiet place to write. So, I got up at 5 a.m., was in Bruegger’s or Au Bon Pain with my laptop the minute they opened, and wrote for an hour in coffee shops before work.  Every day.  For two years. I did eventually tackle the Confessions, and had to read it twice to understand it.  My husband and I travelled to Milan, where Augustine and Leona lived for several years, and to Ostia, where his mother, Saint Monnica, died.

Then came a year of editing, rewriting, and harsh-but-loving criticism from my two beloved writing groups.  I slashed whole chapters that led nowhere, and changed confusing character names.  Hundreds of dead-weight adverbs and adjectives lost their lives.  Characters disappeared.

The Search for a Publisher for The Saint’s Mistress

And that was easy compared to the five years that it took to find an agent or publisher. 

Try being a first-time novelist with zero contacts, trying to sell a novel in the middle of the biggest financial crisis since the Great Depression, and while the publishing industry is in the process of the biggest transformation since the printing press.  Or, on second thought, don’t try it.  It isn’t fun.

The Saint’s Mistress was finally accepted by a very small publisher, SynergeBooks. It came out in 2014 as an e-book, and then in print in 2016. When your publisher is small, you do most of your own marketing, similar to self-publishing. I bought Goodreads ads, and offered author talks at local libraries. I ended up making a little money on the book, but not much. In 2019, Synerge was bought by CamCat, larger publisher with more resources. They asked me to revise my first chapter, gave the book a re-edit and a new cover, and re-released it in September 2020. The staff and other authors at CamCat have been helpful and generous, and I’m very excited about the re-release.

Worth It?

My book project has certainly been a long journey, and a hard, discouraging one at times. But, overall, I have loved it.  With every page I wrote, both Saint Augustine, whom the world knows, and Leona, a mere ghost, felt more real to me.  Sometimes I forgot that I was making it all up, and felt like I was telling the story the way I knew, absolutely knew somehow, that it had really happened.  I loved them.  I still do. A trail of books led me to them, and I hope that my own finished book accurately expresses their time, their love and their spirits.

One of the great pleasures of being a writer is the unexpected connections that I make. One of my Irish dancing friends – who didn’t know that I blog  – accidentally came across my recent post about pre-1800 buildings in Pittsburgh. As she read, she was excited to realize that, not only did she know the author, but she knew the owners of one of the houses. She asked if I’d like to see the inside of the John Frew House. Would I ever!

Mona and I spent a delightful morning touring the house and learning a little about its history from the current owners, David Majka and Connie Eads. The view from the street is deceptive. The house sits almost directly on the street and the front, with its two distinct wings and added-on garage, isn’t especially graceful. But step inside, or walk into the back yard, and you are in a different world.

First, a little history

The springhouse and the original three-story section of the Frew House were built in 1790 of locally-quarried cut sandstone. The Greek Revival addition was added in 1840. John Frew originally owned ninety-four acres between present-day Crafton Boulevard and Noblestown Road, on a Revolutionary War land claim. Frew planted an orchard on the property, and built a cider mill directly across the street from where his house still stands. Their barn stood on the present-day site of the Poplar Apartments.

John Frew and his wife had nine children. Over the course of the nineteenth century successive Frews, Sterretts and Chesses owned, subdivided and lived on the original Frew farm. After 1900, the house was rented and fell into disrepair. The farm was subdivided one last time in 1941, leaving the poor, dilapidated house on a mere eight-tenths of an acre.

In the 1940s, Robert Goron, a horticulturist at the Phipps Conservatory, and his friend, Clifford McFall, bought the Frew house and spent the next decades restoring the house and gardens. It deteriorated again towards the end of Mr. Goron’s life, and was greatly in need of love when Dave and Connie bought it in 1996.

Our tour of the Frew House

We entered the house on the bottom floor of the 1790 section. The cozy room features a large stone fireplace and original ceiling beams of pit-sawn white oak.

Ascending a set of steep, narrow stairs, we found ourselves in the living room which is dominated by Connie’s grand piano and by mid-nineteenth-century paintings of a riverboat captain and his wife, painted by David Gilmour Blythe. David Majka has a fascination with Blythe and has published a collection of his poetry and other writings.

Other than the sleek 1990s kitchen and two enviable bathrooms, Dave and Connie have lovingly decorated the house in nineteenth-century style, and have made every effort to maintain the integrity of their home. Old family photos and early-era paintings and photographs of the house hang on the walls. Early nineteenth century tiles decorate a bedroom fireplace. The original wood-plank flooring has been refinished. Original iron latches adorn the outside shutters. Even the windows sashes are original six-over-sixes. All of the seven fireplaces except one still work. Closets and cupboards are ingeniously built into walls and between dormers, so that they are completely unobtrusive. Dave and Connie installed floor and ceiling heating and air conditioning, so that the walls remain undisturbed by ductwork.

Oh, and the yard!

After touring the house, the owners showed us the .8-acre grounds. You’d never guess that their house stands within the Pittsburgh city limits, a mere ten-minute drive from downtown. Their boundaries are wooded, so the back yard feels very secluded, with a porch and large lawn.

We also saw Robert Goron’s legacy in the back yard. He had planted several geometric exhibition gardens on the property. Dave and Connie have let most of them go fallow, but the structures survive. The property also boasts a large, mysterious pool, now empty. Dave and Connie aren’t sure what its original purpose was. They don’t think it was a swimming pool, because it lacks a drain. But it still has all the plumbing for a fountain and a waterfall, so they think it was just a beautiful water feature at one time.

I so enjoyed seeing this beautifully maintained piece of Pittsburgh history. Think of all the lives lived there! The sharp, fruity smell of cooking cider. Sledding on the hills of Greentree during crisp Pittsburgh winters. Backyard parties beside the fountain on summer nights in the 1950s. When we preserve old places, we also preserve the memory of Pittsburghers who lived, loved, worked, laughed and cried before us.

Some of us who live in Pittsburgh and Philadelphia jokingly call the rest of our state “Pennsylbama,” referring to the rural nature of northern and central Pennsylvania and to the anti-government, anti-tax political sentiments of the area’s residents.  But most of us aren’t aware that the roots of those sentiments go all the way back to the first major challenge to the sovereignty of the young United States.  That challenge was the Whiskey Rebellion, and it took place right here in southwestern Pennsylvania.

Hamilton – AGAIN

Anyone who’s seen the musical “Hamilton” or read the excellent Ron Chernow biography on which it is based, knows that the first Secretary of the Treasury advocated federalizing the finances of the young nation.  He fought for a national bank.  He wanted the federal government to take over state debts resulting from the Revolution.  But how to raise the revenue to pay off that debt? 

Hamilton proposed a tax on whiskey, and Congress enacted it in 1791. You can see why they thought it would be a good idea.  They believed that the tax would fall on a small minority of citizens.  And sin taxes are common sources of revenue.  Since sin is pretty consistent, they also tend to be very reliable sources of revenue.

What Hamilton failed to consider was that, on the western frontier, fully one man in five was running a whiskey still. 

“Look, when Britain taxed our tea, we got frisky; Imagine what gon’ happen when you try to tax our whiskey”

The reaction to the tax was intense.  Western Pennsylvania was the frontier in 1791, a virtual wilderness.  It was expensive for area farmers to transport their grain to the east for sale.  But whiskey was both easier to transport and more profitable.  The rye that they grew sold for 40 cents a bushel.  A packhorse could carry four bushels east, earning the farmer on $1.60.  But the same pack horse could carry twelve bushels if they had been turned into eight gallons of whiskey – which sold for $1 a gallon.  Eight dollars versus $1.60. Even 18^th-century farmers could do math. 

Also, currency was in short supply on the western frontier.  Deer hides and whiskey were used for barter just like cash. One farmer put it this way:  He never saw more than $10 cash in a year, spent mostly on “salt, nails and the like; nothing to wear, eat or drink was purchased, as my farm provided all.” So, to many small farmers in southwestern Pennsylvania, the whiskey tax amounted to an illegal income tax.

Perhaps worst of all, the tax seemed intended to favor large distillers over small ones.  The sales of large distillers were easier to measure, so they were taxed on what they actually sold.  The little guys were taxed on the size of their stills, which may or may not correspond to what they actually produced and sold. Small distillers who couldn’t afford to post a tax bond also had to pay their tax up front, and they had a harder time passing the cost of the tax on to customers.

The Whiskey Rebellion begins

The tax act passed in the U.S. Congress on March 3, 1791.  It took a while for the news to make its way west and for the guys with stills in their backyards to reach the conclusion that Secretary Hamilton was trying to put them out of business in favor of rich, smart guys like himself.  Angry small distillers from all four southwestern counties – Allegheny, Fayette, Washington and Westmoreland – met on July 27, 1791 at an old French & Indian War fort in Connellsville.  They agreed that rebel groups would be formed in each county, meeting in the county seat to plan resistance measures.

The Allegheny County rebels met for a three-day brainstorming session at the Whale and the Monkey Tavern (later renamed the Sign of the Green Tree) in Pittsburgh, between September 6 and 8, 1791.  The tax rebels signed a formal petition that went both to the U.S. Congress and the Pennsylvania state legislature. 

Their petition was actually successful. . .sort of.  Congress reduced the tax by one cent. 

Let’s just say that the westerners were less than satisfied.

Tar, Feathers and Haircuts

The rebels issued a decree that said, in part, that any person “who had accepted or might accept an Office under Congress in order to carry (the tax) into effect, should be considered as inimical to the interests of the Country; and recommending to the Citizens of Washington County to treat every person who had accepted or might thereafter accept any such office with contempt, and absolutely to refuse all kind of communication or intercourse with the Officers, and to withhold from them all aid, support or Comfort.”

It was open season on excise tax collectors for the next two years.  A farmer, hunter and small distiller named Daniel Hamilton (no relation to Alexander) was a ringleader of the violence.  Hamilton had a reputation as a bully. His gang attacked tax collectors – and anyone who helped them – in all four counties.  Their first victim was Robert Johnson.  The mob cut his hair, then tarred and feathered him.  When John Conor tried to serve warrants on Hamilton and his men for the attack, they whipped, tarred and feathered him.  Then they blindfolded him and tied him up in the woods.  Thorough men, they also didn’t forget to rob him of his horse and his money. 

Many similar attacks took place over the next two years.  The rebels took vengeance on anyone who paid their tax. A man who complied with the tax law was likely to have his barn burned or his still damaged.  Men were also attacked merely for renting offices to the tax collectors.  Tarring and feathering, destruction of property and whippings were meted out so diligently that the federal government soon had a hard time finding anyone to take the job of tax collector.

Oliver Miller and John Neville

One gentleman who was not afraid to enforce the tax was John Neville, a wealthy landowner (and slaveholder) in present-day Scott Township and Bridgeville.  Neville had a large distilling operation and it was in his economic self-interest to see the small distillers put out of business by the tax.  (See a little more about Neville in this previous post)

On July 15, 1794, Neville brought U.S. Marshal David Lenox to the property of William Miller. Their purpose was to serve a writ on Miller, fining him $250 for operating an unregistered whiskey still.  Miller was required to appear in court in Philadelphia.  For a frontier farmer, the travel was almost as great a hardship as the $250 fine.  William, who had already sold off part of his farm and was planning to move to Kentucky, refused to accept the writ.  Other nearby farmers heard the argument and fired shots at Neville and Lenox, forcing them to depart. 

The next day, William Miller and 30-40 other farmers marched on Neville’s home, Bower Hill.  Their goal was to capture Lenox, the U.S. Marshal, who they believed was at Bower Hill with Neville.  Oliver Miller, a relative of William’s, was wounded in the skirmish that followed.  The rebels retreated to another old fort, Couch’s Fort (near present-day South Hills Village) to gather reinforcements.  By the next day, more than 500 men had gathered.  They were led by a Revolutionary War veteran, Captain James McFarlane.  And they were mad.

Park Two of the Whiskey Rebellion coming soon!

Sources

Bradford House Historical Association; The Bradford House: A National Historic Landmark; Washington, PA; 2015

Lorant, Stefan; Pittsburgh, The Story of an American City; Lenox, MA, Authors Edition, Inc.; Fourth Edition, 1988

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Whiskey_Rebellion

http://www.maptherebellion.com/neatline/show/the-whiskey-rebellion#records/10

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Bradford_(lawyer)