Bookishly Jewish

Every now and again I get asked where my family is from, only to receive a roll of the eyes when I reply “here.”  In casual contexts this occurs when people want to place me neatly on geographic maps in relation to their own ancestors. Annoying, but mostly harmless. In publishing contexts, this question comes in the form of well meaning, but frankly wrongheaded, gatekeepers trying to suggest I should look “in my ancestry” for material that I can mine to make my writing more “authentic” and “exotic.” Yes, the word exotic has really been used in relation to Jewish themes in my writing. But I digress. The main issue at hand is that these people have zero concept of what it means to be a forced nomad.

How can one claim a geographic heritage when their forebears have been compelled to move from place to place due to relentless persecution and government sponsored genocide? How can one express their culture when the descendants of those very same pillagers will accuse you of appropriation because you “couldn’t possibly be from here. You’re Jewish.” To be a Jew is to be from everywhere and nowhere all at once, because each place will refute your possibly belonging to them while instead insisting you must belong to whichever bogeyman they currently fear. 

This is the central problem faced by the title character of Elijah Kinch Spector’s Kalyna the Soothsayer. Kalyna is the first soothsayer of her line that cannot actually see the future, has been kidnapped by a merciless prince, and is also tasked with preventing the complete and total annihilation of the world as she knows it (which has been foreseen by her debilitated father, who actually can see the future). These, while thrilling plot points, are minor problems compared to the overwhelming refusal of everyone around her to actually see her for who she is rather than who they assume her to be. 

The book is a second world fantasy, and I have no idea what religion is practiced in the kingdoms Kalyna journeys through, but there is such a Jewish sensibility about her plight. Everywhere she goes she risks being run out of town by a mob that accuses her of poisoning the water or turning men’s heads. Every (fake) prophecy she gives is viewed in the context of her being “clearly foreign.” 

I have never felt so seen. 

Adding to the delightfullness of this book is the fact that Kalyna is very clearly bisexual or pansexual and she is allowed to be so, unabashedly, on the page. Spector does not fall into the terrible stereotypes of greediness or indecision that sometimes plague writers of bisexual characters. In fact, while Kalyna is free to experience her desires, she very rarely acts on them because she has bigger fish to fry. Namely the whole end-of-the-world issue. She shows great care and consideration towards both the feelings and ability to consent of potential partners, even if it means she is more often than not left alone. 

I won’t give any spoilers, but I’ll just say that when we do find out who Kalyna ends up with romantically, it is deeply satisfying. I may have read the epilogue some fifteen times simply for how happy it made me. If the author would care to write me some apocryphal fanfic of later events and adventures of these two, I would cherish it deeply. If anyone would like to let him know of this request, I would certainly be cool with that.

Kalyna finds power in her “otherness” by using it to help her navigate a tangled web of court politics and escape some tricky situations. At her core though, she’s not a courtier looking for advancement or a political schemer trying to control the throne. She’s an often hilarious wandering soothsayer trying to keep her family together in the face of those that would hurt them. I can’t imagine anything more Jewish than that.  

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There’s a type of extremely popular WWII book that, for personal reasons, I do not gravitate towards. You know the books I am referring to. There’s typically a woman in a wool coat on the front, standing before either a European landscape or coastline, wearing a hat that is meant to scream ‘I am historical fiction’, and a pair of pumps that are just sensible enough for the treacherous journey she is embarking on. She may or may not be holding a valise.

Have no fear. These books are not hurting for lack of my enthusiasm. There are entire agents and editors whose sole manuscript wish list item is “WWII literature of all genres.” They fill display tables at bookstores and airports where they sell better than ice cream on a summer day and I’m happy for both their authors and their readers that they exist in such numbers. However, BookishlyJewish tends to rely on guest reviews for them because WWII and its related atrocities is not a topic I am capable of consuming as casual entertainment for a variety of personal reasons. So if my review of Fugitive Colors by Lisa Barr shows an embarrassing lack of knowledge of the conventions of this genre I am hopeful you will forgive me. I have not, nor do I aspire to, write in this sphere. I do not even intend to further read it much. But this book, which actually does not contain any scenes that take place during the actual war, caught my eye because it focused on a unique angle- stolen art. The story details not just how Nazis used confiscated art to fund the war, but also how jealously over the ability to produce art and control culture fueled many Nazis and their collaborators towards a hatred of high profile Jewish artists.

The story features Julian, a formed Hassidic Jew from the U.S., who leaves the fold to study art in Paris where he meets the extremely talented artist Rene, his enthusiastic but ungifted friend Felix, and his fiancée Adrienne. What happens next is fairly run of the mill love and friendship triangle stuff – Julian falls for Adrienne, Rene relentlessly cheats on Adrienne with an artists model while Felix stews at them all due to his inability to score with the girls or produce art deemed valuable by the who’s who of art society that is constantly fawning over Rene. When Adrienne and Julian finally get together, Julian is struck with guilt for what he views as a betrayal of Rene and therefore follows him into what is quickly becoming Nazi Germany to help repair the relationship between Rene and Felix.

Putting aside our objections at Adrienne being treated as forbidden property because of a fiancé who has cheated on her, strung her along, and generally treated her like dirt, we must also contend with our hindsight leading us to scream at the absolute awful decisions these two Jewish artists are making by pursuing their Nazi sympathizing friend right into the heart of the Rhineland. This is not the last time in the book we will have to do so. The action is fast and furious and almost always caused by extremely awful decisions made by the main characters for dubious reasons. Since the book takes place in the period immediately prior to WW II during the radicalization of Germany, we also get a peek at a concentration camp that is being used to hold political prisoners before the war breaks out and it is full scale converted into a slaughterhouse for Jews. 

While all of the above is certainly stuff that will capture the eye of most readers of this particular genre, I stuck along not for the plot, but for the wonderful depictions of art and what it means to produce it. Equally captivating was the depiction of what failed artistic ambitions can do to a person. Felix, who has all the wealth in the world to comfort himself, is radicalized by his desire to be a great artist. He is constantly being turned away by those he would impress – many of them Jews. Adding salt to the wound is the fact that his friend Rene – also a Jew – seems to come to artistic acclaim so naturally.

This struggle to achieve success in a field whose rules are completely unclear and ever shifting, brings to mind thoughts I have had when combing museums and realizing I am clearly not a great art connoisseur because I often enjoy pieces on the street corner far more than those on display at auctions. If an artist isn’t reliant on gallery sales, remember Felix is extremely rich, why care what “people in the know” think about his or her art? Haven’t many great artists been mocked in their time only to be deemed masters by later generations? Who even are these supposed taste-makers, and who gave them the keys to the kingdom? 

It’s easy for someone on the outside to mock, but I’ve seen similar cycles in my own field. I have never been able to produce much in terms of visual art, but I do try and tell a good story, and I enjoy recognition for that as much as the next person does. Gaining access to readers often means convincing an insular group of “publishing professionals” to pick your story. Writers must make it through a barrage of gate keepers who will tell them they are worthless over and over again. Self publishing has evened out a small part of the playing field, but that wasn’t available in Felix’s time. Besides, he probably still would have been a Nazi. Because as much as those who perform unthinkable acts of hate would like to blame others for their actions, the fault usually lies deeply buried within themselves. A sense of both insecurity, self loathing, and entitlement leads them to think the world owes them something and that it is completely normal to use violence to obtain what has not been freely given. No amount of accolades is going to cure that.

Content warning: The book features a lovely prologue showing how Julian’s artistic talent is a gift from God, but then included what I found to be a cliched version of leaving an ultra religious community. From the authors note, it seems this addition was made at the request of a critique group. I wish the author had opted to discard that particular feedback. Stories of leaving an insular religious community are as varied as the people who choose to do so, yet we always seem to be given only one type of narrative. For me, this story had very little impact on the coming plot or character development. I would therefore encourage my readers who find such tales painful, to simply skip it. There’s been a lot of talk about the way such stories are depicted in media, by people more qualified than I am, but a lot of it occurred after the publication of this book. So simply consider this a content warning for those that need it. 

The cover of the edition of Fugitive Colors that I read did feature a European landscape, the Eiffel Tower, but there was no human figure. Instead it focused on intriguing shading. I could feel the intentions of the artist who created it. That’s a good match for the book. It was a worthy read for me because of how it allowed me to relate to art. I was able to suspend my disbelief at the egregious choices everyone seemed to be making for reasons I could not discern, because the art kept pulling me along. Hopefully, whatever way you choose to engage with art of any form, this book will provide some insights into that process for you too. 

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Jewish fairy tale retellings

As a Jewish reader, I have a complicated relationship with fairy tales. On the one hand, I love stories of beautiful princesses, clever heroines, and mythical creatures. On the other hand, it’s pretty hard to ignore that the villains being defeated in these tales are more often than not some form of antisemitic charicature. Even in modern retellings, the evil character is often just shy of Jewish coded and, as a bonus, often queer coded too. How to make ones peace with such heinous source material? A crop of books by Jewish writers seeks to do just that by inserting Jewish characters and viewpoints into tired old tales, thereby giving readers a new perspective.

Possibly the most commercially famous of this new brand of Jewish friendly fairy tale is Naomi Novik’s Spinning Silver. In this book, Novik takes the most egregious of antisemitic source materials, Rumpelstiltskin, and re-imagines it. There is a sympathetic Jewish heroine, but also a web of understanding and appreciation that spreads between all the viewpoint characters whether they are Jewish or Gentile. It is no surprise that my review of this award winning book is one BookishlyJewish’s most highly visited pages. There is something for everyone here, whether they identify as Jewish or not.

Picking up that mantle and diving further into the world of Jewish shtetl life is The Sisters of the Winter Wood, which takes another story rife with antisemitism, The Goblin Market, and uses it to showcase complex Jewish characters. The plot also depicts how fairy tales and other such bedtime stories are used to scapegoat Jewish people any time the local government needs a convenient way to distract the population over whom they rule. These tales sow the seeds of dehumanization and othering that result in later pogroms whenever something bad happens. There are goblins that are most definitely not Jews in this story, but also a hassidus with an interesting magical power of its own, and a reflection on conversion and the family bonds that keep us all together.

More recently, R.M. Romero’s The Ghosts of Rose Hill, features a BIPOC Jew fighting a long forgotten demon over the memory of the Jewish children that are also all but forgotten by the local gentiles that have taken over the once thriving Jewish community of Prague. The book is a YA novel in verse, and it’s musical theme reminded me of The Pied Piper as well as several eastern European demons, but the true power of this story, for me, was in its ability to remind us all that there is power in remembering. Much like the heroine, our current stories can be brought to bear on tales of yesterday to give them a more just resolution this time around.

Another tactic to reconcile a love of fairy tale with Jewish roots is to actively bring Jewish mythological characters to the forefront. Many books have recently started to feature Golems, Sheidim, and other characters from Jewish myth. Rebecca Podos’s YA fantasy, From Dust a Flame , read to me like a modern fairy tale, complete with a heroine undergoing a distressing bodily transformation while simultaneously attempting to unravel the mystery of her curse and rescue someone else. She has both a sibling and a Golem assistant, in addition to the intriguing love interest from down the road. The story acknowledges the person hood of these creatures, from the villlain to the newly minted Golem, by giving them motivations and goals of their own.

Speaking of allowing villains person-hood, in her adult fantasy Thistelfoot, GennaRose Nethercott gives flesh to that most hated of presumably Jewish witches: Baba Yaga. Not only does she make this bogeyman relatable, she uses her to remind us all about the power of the stories we tell. It is a welcome message in a field that has once told stories used to dehumanize Jews and justify their persecution. This is not your grandmother’s Baba Yaga and the wold is better for it.

Still, readers might wonder what all this terrible legacy has to do with the whitewashed, Disney-fied fairy tales we tell our children today. Certainly those are harmless? Yet, I would argue that they are just as perniciously anti-Jewish, bu in a different way. These stories push a christian ideology as the only way of viewing the world. They create societal norms that are so ingrained in the media group-think that they seep into other cultures, including Jewish ones, and change how we tell our own stories or view our own traditions. This can occur either through a subconscious acquiescence to Christian hegemony or through the more insidious insistence of traditional publishing on relying on standard story forms, only one form of morality, and content quotas which is only now beginning to change.

Two recent books that I have read take these more recent retelllings, and retell them once again, possibly for the thousandth time, but now with a Jewish twist. In My Fine Fellow by Jennieke Cohen, the story of My Fair Lady – originally based on Ovid’s Pygmalion – is retold with an added layer of complexity. The story is genderbent and the character being “improved” by his societal superiors is Jewish. This allows the reader to sit with some very uncomfortable thoughts about how society views people as other for various reasons – including poverty, and yes, being Jewish. The tale is otherwise lighthearted and yet it still managed to trigger that next level of thought for me.

Cinderella, possibly the most famous fairy Princess of all time, is also genderbent in Felicia Grossman’s Marry be Midnight. In this story, he is the Synagouge custodian and the object of his affections is the richest woman in the Jewish community of 1830’s London. The historical adult romance, while extremely charming and sizzling, does not shy away from both the divisions between Jew and gentile and between ashkenazi and sephardic Jew at the time. The romance is more nuanced and richer for the author having done so. The happily ever after feeling more earned.

I read these books with extreme pleasure, because they allowed me to touch base with pervasive story archetypes in a way that not only did not denigrate my religion, but actually embraced it. Jewish stories come with some necessary layers of complication. Far from getting bogged down, these authors embraced the difficulty of being a Jew at any period in time, by having their characters actively engage with their heritage. It creates a fairy story that is actually believable and far more meaningful for his reader.

Fin the books mentioned in this article by clicking the links below:

Spinning Silver: GoodReads | Bookshop | Amazon | BookishlyJewish Review

The Sisters of the Winter Woods: GoodReads | Bookshop | Amazon | BookishlyJewish Review

The Ghosts of Rose Hill: GoodReads | Bookshop | Amazon | BookishlyJewish Review

From Dust a Flame: GoodReads | Bookshop | Amazon | BookishlyJewish Review

Thistlefoot: GoodReads | Bookshop | Amazon

My Fine Fellow: GoodReads | Bookshop | Amazon

Unreliable narrators experienced a moment a few years ago, with everyone from big 5 editors to bookstagrammers gushing over them. With Thistlefoot, a Baba Yaga retelling involving two siblings and a traveling puppet show, GennaRose Nethercott takes this concept of shifting perspective to the extreme. Sure, people can curate their stories, but how about houses?

The house in question, a wonderful wooden creation that runs around on chicken’s feet, breaks the third wall repeatedly in the narrative by addressing the readers directly. The feisty house, named Thistlefoot, acknowledges that it is telling us only one version of several possible stories, holding its secrets close to its shingles, and even rebukes us at one point for not having patience. Thistlefoot is not messing around. It has its reasons and no reader quibbles will sway it from its intended purpose.

Those reasons soon become apparent as we follow Thistlefoot and its inhabitants, siblings Bellatine and Isaac Yaga, on an epic adventure. The siblings are an unlikely pair. Bellatine uses carpentry to stop herself from using her magical power which she fears. Isaac, on the other hand, uses his own gift to grift his way across the country. Thanks to this impasse, they’ve grown estranged, but when the mysterious house on chicken feet is bequeathed to them by a long lost ancestor, they form a tenuous agreement. They will use Thistelfoot as a traveling puppet theater. After one year of performances, Isaac will keep all the profits while Bellatine will retain sole ownership of the house.

Too bad neither of them knows Thistelfoot is being hunted by a shadowy creature known as the LongShadow man. As the siblings struggle to figure out how to protect Thistlefoot, they must dig deep and learn about their own ancestral history, no matter how painful. The individual story arcs of Bellatine and Isaac intertwine with Thistelfoot’s own story like vines on a trellis. The house and its memories form a scaffold onto which each individual can hang their own trauma, obstacles, and desires.

Who gets to tell a story, and how that viewpoint shapes future understanding of historical events, is at the root of all fables and folktales. This is never more obvious than when a house on chicken legs encourages two squabbling siblings to take control of their own narratives. It’s a lesson I will take with me into my own writing. Narrators are not necessarily unreliable, they simply each have their own agenda, which can often directly conflict with traditional Western story structure. Honoring that balance and saying true to oneself is at the root of every good story, no matter who tells it.

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BookishlyJewish received an e arc of this book after requesting one through NetGalley

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E Broderick is a writer and speculative fiction enthusiast. When not writing she enjoys epic games of trivial pursuit and baking. She currently lives in the U.S. but is eagerly awaiting the day a sentient spaceship offers to take her traveling around the galaxy.

King Solomon is a darling of Jewish education. Schoolchildren everywhere put on plays about the bee that allowed him to solve the Queen of Sheba’s riddles. High school students delve deeper, learning about how clever Solomon tricked Ashmedai, king of Sheidim, into helping build the Temple. But few are aware of the criticism of Solomon’s reign. Sure, we all know about the too-many-wives thing, but any other substantial debate is largely relegated to the halls of academia. The rest of the world simply sees what it has been taught to see.

In Ring of Solomon, author Aden Polydoros once again plays with the theme of societal perceptions and how people define monstrosity. Although this is his MG debut, fans of Polydoros will recall how his earlier YA fantasies feature characters discovering that classic definitions of ‘hero’ and ‘monster’ are not always accurate. Ring of Solomon is no different, although at a level appropriate for younger readers. It asks the reader to see more than what they have been preconditioned to see.

When the main character, Zach, accidentally acquires the ring that Solomon used to bind Ashmedai, he sets off a disastrous chain of events. Now, to prevent the apocalypse, Zach must team up with Ashmodei and defeat a roster of Jewish mythical beasts. His best friend Sandra and his tag along little sister Naomi are his only back up. Sheidim are Jewish demons with a reputation for trickery and evil, but Zach soon discovers there’s more to Ashmedai than the stories suggest. In fact, he finds himself weirdly relating to this centuries old creature.

Zach, who is queer and crushing on a classmate that has aligned himself with the class bully, is also misunderstood and an outcast. In an important side plot, Ashmedai helps him find the courage to stand up to an antisemitic bully. More impressive, by pivoting away from any traditional romance arc, the narrative allows Zach to become a fully realized character in his own right without his identity depending on validation from anyone else.

The action is fast paced and the social commentary percolating underneath adds some more personal stakes to complement the end of the world monster fighting. We all have our demons, both large and small, and fighting them isn’t always the answer. Sometimes a little deep exploration, a look beyond the surface, will reveal that the monsters are the ones that would shame us for simply being ourselves. Zach and Ashmedai learn that lesson together.

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BookishlyJewish received a free e arc of this book through Netgalley

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E Broderick is a writer and speculative fiction enthusiast. When not writing she enjoys epic games of trivial pursuit and baking. She currently lives in the U.S. but is eagerly awaiting the day a sentient spaceship offers to take her traveling around the galaxy.

If someone had told me a year ago that they could find me in the basement of my house practicing my grand plié and demi plié postures, I would have pulled a muscle from laughing. Now though I’m only pulling muscles when I don’t stretch enough before ballet practice.

I won’t claim that Pas de Don’t by Chloe Angyal is solely responsible for convincing an out-of-shape former weightlifter in their 30s to point their toes and pretend they’re holding a giant beach ball out in front of them…but I also won’t claim that it didn’t play a large role in that decision.

You see when I received the ARC for this debut romance novel of Center Stage meets Under the Tuscan Australian Sun, I wasn’t totally sure that the title was a ballet pun. (Though the gorgeous cover helped clear that up.) I mean, I’ve watched — and enjoyed — a few ballets in my life, but the majority of my ballet references are about the darker side of that world: the restrictive eating, the injuries, the racial inequity, and the controlling companies.

Given that, normally I would have shied away from a romance set on such a stage. In Chloe Angyal’s hands though? I couldn’t wait to read it. Angyal is also the author of the nonfiction book Turning Pointe: How a New Generation of Dancers Is Saving Ballet from Itself. In Turning Pointe, she explores classical ballet’s history of racial, sexual, and class bias, as well as the tremendous work being done from within to change it.

So, on the surface Pas de Don’t is a fun ballet romance about Heather (a principal dancer from New York who is escaping a toxic engagement to a fellow ballet lead) and Marcus (a ballet dancer in Sydney recovering from a terrible injury). The meet-cute is memorable, the chemistry is instantaneous, and the conflict is believable: the Australian National Ballet has a strict rule against dancers in the company dating each other. To defy the rule is to lose your career at the company.

Underneath the fizzy romance, Angyal educates readers about the kinds of reforms that are desperately needed in the ballet world, and the people who are pushing for those changes. While the narrative doesn’t spend a lot of time diving too deeply into any one of the issue areas, it also doesn’t shy away from the darkest and most painful issues dancers face. (Readers, check the author’s note and content warnings Angyal helpfully supplies in the book.) Clearly informed by her personal knowledge and expertise, I came aware with a deeper understanding of the dance industry and a growing love of the potential of ballet.

Like so often happens when you invite something new into your life, ballet started appearing around me. While reading this gorgeous romance, I had the opportunity to watch an out-of-season performance by the outrageously talented Hiplet Ballerinas (which you should absolutely look up on YouTube if you aren’t familiar) and to start attending a “total beginner” ballet class for adults.

While I hungered for more Black dancers, Indigenous dancers, dancers of color, and queer characters — Pas de Don’t gets the romance job done and then some. I found myself rooting for Heather and falling a little in love with Marcus as he heals Heather’s bruised heart, even as his own injury slowly repairs itself. Their story felt believable and, in some small way, their joy made me eager to seek my own — to attend a dance show, to believe I could start learning something new. And isn’t that what marks a truly great romance? Not only does it make us feel something, but it makes us feel something beautiful about ourselves.

Mark me among the first row standing and cheering as the curtains closed on Heather and Marcus’s happily ever after.

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An e-arc of this book was provided to BookishlyJewish after we asked the author for one.

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The Hereville series of graphic novels by Barry Deutsch is nothing short of miraculous. Not because it contains fantastical witches, monsters, talking pigs and trolls that like to knit. Not because these adventures are being had by an Orthodox Jewish girl who both loves her religion and the isolated orthodox community in which she lives. Nope, these books are magical because through the careful release of titles from the series to members of my family, they bought me two hours of peace on Passover school vacation.

Our heroine, Mirka, loves being Jewish. She loves her blended family which includes her stepmother Fruma, and her many siblings and step siblings. She also loves having adventures and dreams of fighting monsters. All this is the stuff of dreams until Mirka runs into a witch with a talking pet pig in the woods near her house. Suddenly Mirka is thrust into a series of adventures that show how very little about monsters she actually knows, and how that isn’t going to stop her!

The adventures are fun, but what is really beautiful is the family narrative that spans all three books. Mirka discovers that there is a whole lot more to her stepmother, Fruma, than she initially thought. She processes her own grief about her mother’s passing, complicated sibling relationships for both siblings that wish she was more traditional and the baby brother she seeks to protect, and how her religion fits into this all.

There are some beautiful scenes in which Mirka experiences traditional Jewish Shabbats but possibly the most meaningful comes in Book 3, when Fruma explains to Mirka that the entire point is keeping Gods commandments even when things are hard. Mirka and Fruma are rewarded for this devotion, and by the end of the book they have firmly bonded and figured out their step-parent and step-child relationship.

I recommend the entire series as a binge read. It will help you see Mirka’s journey and enjoy the recurrence of some very funny side characters. Plus, you’ll get those two hours of peace while everyone is happily reading.

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E Broderick is a writer and speculative fiction enthusiast. When not writing she enjoys epic games of trivial pursuit and baking. She currently lives in the U.S. but is eagerly awaiting the day a sentient spaceship offers to take her traveling around the galaxy.

As a queer author and someone with half a degree in medieval history, when I saw the announcement of Natasha Siegel’s debut historical fiction, I immediately knew that I needed to read Solomon’s Crown as soon as I could. I had amazingly high hopes for this book from the description—a retelling of the relationship between the newly-crowned King Philip of France and Richard, Duke of Aquitaine, later to be the King of England. While in dispute by historians, some have taken the fact that the two men were reported to have been “sleeping in the same bed” to be evidence of a queer relationship. Siegel reimagines the story of Philip and Richard as one of fear and loathing and love, and uses her versions of these historical figures to tell a timeless story.

As a reader, I was drawn to the book’s premise and setting, but fully enraptured by its careful exploration of the ways in which duty and devotion can lead to heart-wrenching conflicts. Philip, in particular, deals with anxiety about what his position as King of France, and Richard’s future ascension to the throne, means for their nascent relationship. He worries about whether to give in to the growing love he shares with Richard and risk one day finding himself on the opposite side of a battlefield, or protect himself from that future pain by refusing to acknowledge the feelings between them. This is just one notable element of a story full of complex, believable, fully alive characters. (A special mention goes to Isabella, Philip’s wife, whose gentle acceptance of her husband’s sexuality—and urging for him to embrace happiness—brought me at many points to tears.)

As Siegel writes in her author’s note, this is not a historically accurate novel, but in reading it, I felt as though it were. The background of twelfth-century Europe is vividly and beautifully rendered, from sweeping descriptions of the cities of London and Paris and the castles that Philip and Richard haunt, to the smallest details of the flora and fauna they encounter (a sprig of rosemary and an elm tree are described and utilized to outstanding effect). The descriptions of war and battle were tense and gritty, and the tension of the plot continues to build until the book becomes unputdownable. The writing is unbearably gorgeous, stark at some points and achingly descriptive at others, with line after line that I will remember for years to come.

As a reader, I felt as though a part of me will remain buried with this book, as Richard dreaded his heart would be separated from his body when he died. But in this case, I am so glad to have left a part of myself with this story, because it is worth dwelling on—and with—for a lifetime. I am crossing my fingers for a sequel, and am greatly looking forward to anything else that Siegel will publish in the future.

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Laura R. Samotin is an author of fantasy grounded in Jewish myth, mysticism, and her Eastern European Jewish heritage. Her debut novel, THE SINS ON THEIR BONES, will be released by Random House CA in Summer 2024. When she’s not writing, she is using her PhD in political science to do research, and a full-time cat servant.

As someone who has struggled with self confidence about my physical appearance for a fair portion of my life, I opened Marilyn Simon Rothstein’s novel, Crazy To Leave You, with a cautious optimism. I wondered if a story about a plus sized woman left at the altar and struggling to cope could actually come off as entertaining as the book jacket suggested. And if so, how would this magic be achieved?

In the opening pages the main character, Lauren, is dumped via phone call just as she is about to walk down the Synagogue aisle. As the story unfolds, I learned that Lauren dieted like a mad woman to fit into her wedding dress and that at age forty-one she views this relationship as her last opportunity to have the family she has always dreamed about. This is described in such vivid detail that I was left unsure as to whether she regretted the loss of her spouse, a man-child that doesn’t even have the decency to break up with her in person and whose parents are insanely controlling and enabling, or simply the loss of that ideal future. Turns out, it’s a little of both.

Lauren is actually very well placed in her career in advertising, but all her accomplishments are overlooked by her fatphobic parents who cannot seem to focus on anything but her weight. Meanwhile, her ex-fiance is just as much a putz as we all suspected, a fact her entire family is quick to point out. As Lauren struggles to recover from the devastation she is surprised by her sister Margot – an overweight actress who moves in uninvited to Lauren’s apartment. Together with their third sister Stephanie – the “perfect” one -and the company chauffeur Margot and Lauren reconfigure their value systems. Lauren forces Margot to deal with her health issues and in turn, learns how to demand the respect she reserves from both her family and her boss.

This could have gone the route of a traditional romance – the broken hearted career girl finding solace in the arms of the company driver – but thankfully it did not. I would have enjoyed such a story far less because I would keep worrying about Lauren never learning to find the affirmation she needs from within herself. Instead, this is more a story about self discovery and forging new paths when all seems lost. With a little romance on the side.

Simon Rothstein’s sense of humor is unique. You are either going to love it or hate it, and if you’ve read any of her previous work you should know by now which camp you fall into. However, there are certain aspects of this book that readers should know before heading in. Lauren’s mother is extremely fatphobic. She will remind you of that person in your life – everyone has one – who always manages to find your scabs and pick at them in the guise of helping you. Lauren’s dieting and bingeing are on full display and readers with an eating disorder should be forewarned that there is graphic bingeing and fad diets galore in these pages. Furthermore, Margot and her health struggles are depicted with a fair amount of comedy. Again, you are either going to love that or hate it.

This is not the book for someone who cannot stand to read about family trauma, fatphobia or health conditions like type two diabetes. It is also not for someone looking for a swoony romance. This is, instead, exactly what the flap cover promised – a book that strives to be humorous and entertaining even when dealing with serious topics.

The reviewer received an e copy of the book from the author in the hopes that she might review it.

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E Broderick is a writer and speculative fiction enthusiast. When not writing she enjoys epic games of trivial pursuit and baking. She currently lives in the U.S. but is eagerly awaiting the day a sentient spaceship offers to take her traveling around the galaxy.

Passover prep is exhausting. Cleaning, cooking, finally fishing the potato chip wrappers out of the backseat of the car. All these tasks pile up on my to do list and some days, the only thing pulling me through is the knowledge that I can finally rest on seder night and enjoy a beautiful holiday. It’s a labor of love, but this year I’d like to make a suggestion for anyone looking to unwind at the end of the day: get yourself some Passover romance. 

Two Nights To Forever by Rebecca Crowley is a book that does the unthinkable. It makes an investment banker likable. Eve Klein is not your typical buy and burn banker. She has chosen to move back to her hometown in Orchard Hill and work for a female dominated firm rather than signing up for a fast track career at a NY company. Like many of her finance counterparts, Eve loves the thrill of a tough bargain, of sealing an acquisition, and working a board room. What sets her apart are her methods of operation once the contract is signed. Rather than selling off assets and cannibalizing the companies they purchase, Eve’s firm specializes in rehabilitating acquisitions. They attempt to retain the character of the business while helping it find a way back to profitability. 

That is why she’s so excited about buying out Keller and Sons, a local family run business that manufactures luxury watches. Eve has always admired their craftsmanship, but she never though this company, that has been passed down from father to son for several generations, would be on the market for a private equity buy out. She’s sure her approach to keeping companies largely intact will mean she is the selected buyer. The only obstacle in her path is Saul Keller.

Saul chose to leave the family business and enter the world finance because he wanted more freedom. When his brother runs the company into the ground, Saul is forced to return and mitigate the damage. He doesn’t want the company employees to lose their jobs or for the legacy built by his Holocaust survivor grandfather to be sold off for spare parts. Eve and her offer represent an alternative to those disasters, but there’s one catch – Saul would have to accept the removal of his brother as CEO, a move which could tear the family apart. For Evie this non negotiable. Even Saul acknowledges that the only way to save the business is to have someone making intelligent decisions at the helm. That doesn’t make it any less of a stalemate.

As negotiations proceed, Eve and Saul find themselves spending more and more time together and the mutual attraction is hard to deny. But Eve’s got a lot on her plate. She is adopted and recently met up with her birth mother who has invited her over for the Seder. She happily agreed at the time, but panic settles in as she worries she won’t be what her birth mother expects. Her family has raised her Jewish, but their practice is vastly different than those of her birth mother. When Saul finds out, he offers to run through a mock Seder with Eve and attend the Seder with her. Plus her invites her to attend a Seder at his friends house. 

Now for those who don’t know – there’s a fair bit of wine consumed at the Seder. Spending that much time together has loosened the inhibitions of this pair. Toss in Saul’s friends teasing, and the rest is practically a foregone conclusion. Eve and Saul finally give in and explore the romance angle of their relationship, promising to keep the business aspects separate. 

Obviously that’s impossible. And the conflict that arises because of this arrangement is compulsively readable because the seeds for it were planted right on the very first page. Eve and Saul have to sort out not only their feelings for each but also their complicated family dynamics – Eve’s adoption and Saul’s responsibilities towards his brother and the business that has always felt like a snare holding him back. 

No matter what type of Seder your family participates in, or if you don’t formally celebrate at all, this is a great book to help get you in the mindset of Passover. For those who prefer to know their romance steam levels before committing – there is sex on the page, but it isn’t the focus of the book. This is a book about family and finding ones place in it. A perfect match for Passover. 

Find It: GoodReads | Amazon

The reviewer received a free e copy of this book from the author who kindly offered one in the hopes of an honest review.

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E Broderick is a writer and speculative fiction enthusiast. When not writing she enjoys epic games of trivial pursuit and baking. She currently lives in the U.S. but is eagerly awaiting the day a sentient spaceship offers to take her traveling around the galaxy.