Cynthia Varady's Blog, page 9

The Dark Woods: A Fairy Named Thunder Excerpt

Chapter 2 In which Monique and James meet fairies, try a new fruit, and are judged.

“No way.” James pushed his glasses onto his nose and peered over Monique’s shoulder. The fairy’s faint light quivered.

With trembling hands, Monique picked up the fairy. Its tiny body fit in her palm. A hint of warmth kissed her night-cooled hand. The fairy shivered, then stirred no further.

Monique stood and brought her hand close to her face. From the other side, James leaned in, and together they inspected the fairy.

Two sets of leaf-like wings lay folded against the fairy’s back. Its brown, stick-like body carried patches of green moss and lichen. Minus the blue glow, the fairy looked like a stick. Up close, the fairy’s small face was visible. A flawless nose, mouth, chin, and pointy ears detailed the would-be stick as if sculpted by a master, dispelling any notions that this was a simple stick.

“It doesn’t look like the fairies I’ve seen on TV or in books,” James said, his eyes large behind his glasses.

The fairy shuddered again, pulling its stick legs to its chest.

“What should we do?” Monique asked, worry in her voice.

“Maybe it’s hungry or thirsty.” James peered around the shed and into the yard, searching for an answer. The moon, right on cue, produced a shaft of light that illuminated a low branch on the fig tree. At the branch’s tip grew a large fig. The fruit, double the size of the tree’s other fruit, as if it had received particular attention, beckoned to James.

“I have an idea.” He took Monique’s free hand and pulled her to the tree. He picked the fig, rolling it in his hand as he examined it. A deep pink color crept up the fig’s dry, green skin. “It’s warm,” James said, “like it’s been setting in the sun.” He turned back to Monique and held the fig to the fairy’s small brown face.

Its nose twitched, eyelids fluttered.

“Did you see that?” Monique said. “It’s moving.”

Before James could respond, the fairy sat up and took a bit of the fig before flopping back into Monique’s hand, still as death save for its chewing jaw.

James and Monique stood, mouths agape. Recovering herself, Monique threw her free hand over her mouth and stifled a scream.

“It’s real!” she said behind her hand. “It’s really real.”

Bit by bit, the hollow blue glow strengthened. James pulled the fig away. They watched as the fairy stretched and yawned before flashing into the air, wings humming like a dragonfly. It bowed low to James and kissed the back of Monique’s hand still clasped over her mouth. Then, in a blink, it disappeared.

They stood, thunderstruck. What had just happened? Where had the fairy gone? James remembered that he still held the fig and gave it a tentative sniff. The smell was like nothing he’d encountered before. Much against his better judgment, he took a nibble of the soft flesh.

His mouth filled with the fragrant taste of seasons past. The fragrance of dewy spring dawns, summer storms, autumn leaves, and winter winds filled his senses. He closed his eyes, savoring the effect. When he reopened them, a rainbow of lights danced around the yard. Bright spots of every color imaginable blinked and swooped.

“Holy cow,” James breathed. “They’re everywhere.”

Monique removed her hand from her mouth. “What’s everywhere?” she said. Her hand that had held the fairy was still out in front of her, forgotten.

“Fairies.” James spun around, trying to look everywhere at once.

“You see them?” Monique said, her gaze darted around the yard. Only the moon’s silver light lit the yard.

James stopped and wondered at the dazzling display before him and placed the fig in Monique’s forgotten, outstretched hand. “I think it’s magic,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

With a guarded frown, Monique lifted the fig and bit into it. She gasped, a dreamy smile softening her face. “I see them, James,” she whispered. “I see them.”

“Didn’t I tell you they’d figure it out? You’d have the excellent sense not to doubt me in the future,” a small, willowy voice declared from somewhere in front of James and Monique.

“You got lucky,” said another invisible someone. This voice had a hollow wooden ring that reminded Monique of the bamboo wind chime her mom had hung at the house’s front.

“You wish,” said the first voice. “I knew as soon as I set eyes on them sitting in the Mother Tree, they were the ones.” One of the dancing lights slowed its darting and moved closer to James and Monique. It was the fairy they’d freed from the shed. “My instincts are never wrong. These humans are exactly what the woods need.”

Monique peered at the fairy. “You can speak, and we can understand you.” She turned to James. “A fairy is talking to us.” The biggest smile James had ever seen spread across her face.

A golden light swooped up and stopped next to their fairy and tsk its small tongue.

“I’m James, and she’s Monique. We just moved here.” James said to the fairies. It was only polite to introduce themselves.

Their fairy bowed again. “I am Thunder. Thank you for saving me.”

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The Dark Woods: Chapter 1 Excerpt

A/N: New reads in The Book Club! This excerpt is from the first chapter of my middle-grade novella, The Dark Woods.

In which Monique and James move to a new house, learn to use a hammer, and save a life.

Monique Washington and James Mills gawked at their new backyard. Much more sizeable than the yard at their old house in the city, it stretched from the large covered porch to the woods’ edge. Monique estimated she could do at least fifteen cartwheels in a row before running out of room. A single fig tree stood at the center of the ankle-high green grass. Small, pear-shaped fruits sprouted from its branches. Beyond it, a modest shed squatted near the yard’s far edge filled with rusting garden implements. Its paint faded and peeling. Birdsong and the sound of the wind in the trees replaced honking car horns and jackhammers. The scents of tar and fast food swapped for fragrant flowers and freshly tilled earth. It was an unknown world, and Monique and James longed for adventure.

“What kind of tree do you think this is?” James asked, hoisting himself over a low branch of the fig tree. James, a cautious eater, rarely ventured from his mac and cheese, pizza, and hot dogs menu. The fig’s dusty bark smooth beneath his playground calloused hands.

“A climbing tree,” Monique said with authority. “I don’t see any other kinds of trees around here.” The bubbly edge of wonder lifted her voice, a broad smile pulled at her lips, and lit up her eyes. Monique, a more severe soul than James, wasn’t prone to giddy emotions. James could tell she was just as excited about exploring the woods as he was.

The pair had become quick friends two years earlier in second grade when a couple of bigger boys started bullying James. Monique had stepped in and set those boys straight. James loved her direct, no-nonsense approach to, well, everything.

At pickup that day, James and Monique filed out of class to find their parents chatting and laughing at the school gate. Since his mother’s death a year earlier, James had noticed his dad’s lack of a smile. The sight of it stopped him dead. Monique ran on, yelling ‘mommy,’ and jumped into the woman’s outstretched dark arms.

That ordinary day two years ago had been more eventful than any of them could have guessed. Now they were a family of four with a new house in a new town.

Monique hoisted herself onto the branch and perched next to James. “What do you think lives in the woods?”

James pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Rabbits for sure. Maybe foxes. Lots of birds.” It was James’s turn to be authoritative. He loved reading books and watching documentaries about wild animals.

“Wolves?” Monique asked, her expression tinged with concern, but the pregnant light remained in her eyes.

James didn’t answer but surveyed the shady trees spread before them. The thick canopy blotted out most of the sunny day. What dapple light reached the leafy floor did little to dispel the eerie mood both kids recognized. It was the same feeling one got from shadows cast by nightlights. The same tingling that bloomed in your belly when you dangle your feet off the bed. The dark of the unknown. But this carried an unmistakable contrast. The shadows in a night-darkened house might frighten children, but the woods were genuine, dangerous. One’s potential to get lost, hurt, or attacked by a wild animal loomed in the dark patches. Every city kid knows the woods aren’t safe. Otherwise, fairy tales would have nothing evil happen in them. Those stories carried a warning. James and Monique could sense that warning on the cool air drifting towards them like a dream.

They sat in the fig tree and stared at the thick woods, hypnotized, lost in thought.

“Hey, you two. Lunch is ready. Do you want to eat it out here or in the house?” their mom called from the back porch.

Monique and James shook their heads. “House,” they answered in unison. They’d had enough of the wide outdoors for now.

Join the Book Club by popping over to Patreon to read the rest of the first chapter of the Dark Woods: The Shed

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The Girl and the Golem

“You want us to swim?” Gareth asked. He regarded the dark lake water lapping at the dock with disdain. Slimy clouds of algae glittered just below its murky surface.

Gareth, along with several other campers, stood in a line on the dock awaiting their fate. Most were in their first year of mandatory camp. At sixteen, Gareth was at least two years older than most of the first-year campers. His tall, skinny frame towered over many of the fourteen-year-old boys he was forced to bunk with. Gareth had sighed when he first entered the long wooden cabin. Why hadn’t the camp administration placed him in with campers his own age? He found the insult to the injury humiliating.

“Yes,” replied the all too perky camp counselor. “I want you to jump in and swim, with the kickboards of course. This is Beginner’s Swimming. Nothing too drastic your first time.” She had the chipper smile of one who never needs caffeine.

Garth studied her bouncing blond ponytail. It swung like the tail of an excitable dog. She wore a shorty wetsuit revealing well-tanned arms and legs. Gareth couldn’t help thinking how his own pale skin glowed in the unfiltered mountain air. One of the side effects of staying away from polite society for the past two years. He wished he’d packed a wetsuit for this little foray into Lake Algae instead of swim trunks.

“What was your name again?” he asked.

“Tiffany.” Her perky voice popped off the placid water’s surface.

“Of course, it is,” he said looking back at the lake. “Well, Tiffany, what are we supposed to do about breathing?”

To Gareth’s left, another of the campers snorted, but Tiffany didn’t seem to notice.

“Oh, well, you won’t be going under the surface. Not yet anyhow. That’s tomorrow’s lesson.” Tiffany turned serious, her beauty queen smile gone. “But when you do, you’ll hold your breath.”

“Do what?” Gareth leaned toward Tiffany as if she’d spoken a foreign language.

“Hold it. Like this.” Tiffany demonstrated this by taking a deep breath, her apple-round cheeks puffing wide.

Gareth suppressed the urge to smack her face with both hands, releasing the deluge of captive air. “I guess I’m just not understanding the point of all of this. Half of us can cast some sort of spell that will allow us to breathe under the water, and others can just walk across the surface or even fly. Swimming is a moot point.”

Tiffany exhaled in a huff. “Because it freaks out the humans. They know magic exists in the world now, but most don’t want to see it. ‘I don’t mind it, I just don’t want it flaunted in my face’ mentality.”

Camp Steiner was named after its founder, Sydney Steiner, however, the campers dubbed it, ‘Human Training Camp’ or HTC for short. Here, the magical population learned how to interact with the human population. Gareth had studied the history of Earth’s magical evolution but still couldn’t understand why magical and non-magical people had decided to live together. If the two populations had remained apart, then this whole training thing wouldn’t be necessary. Beginner’s Swimming wouldn’t be necessary.

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Everything is Fine by Gillian Harvey | Review

Everything is Fine by author Gillian Harvey is exactly what I needed this gloomy 2020 autumn. Harvey’s novel is relatable, funny, and heartfelt, with a twist of irreverence. I was oftentimes reminded of Helen Feilding’s Bridget Jones’ Diary if it had taken place in the 21st century at the height of the social media craze where anything posted has the chance of going viral. It’s just under these circumstances that the main character, Jessica Bradley finds herself stuck in the middle of an online persona and her real life, and while she claims everything is fine, that’s far from the truth.

Jessica’s blog, Fit at 30 began as a chronicle as she attempted to get in shape, then one day a post goes viral and the likes, comments, and followers come pouring in. Owner of a modest PR company, Star PR, Jessica finds the online boost has brought free publicity to her business and with it more clients. Jessica quickly becomes addicted to the online fame and recognition but finds that staying fit isn’t all it’s cracked up to be (as some of us can attest to). Along with this realization, she finds her hunky boyfriend Dave is about as deep as Narcissus’ reflecting pool. But with all the new clients who sought her out for her can-do attitude and dedication to personal improvement, how can she come clean that she’d rather drink coffee instead of green tea, eat cookies instead of seaweed, and watch TV instead of run on a treadmill?

On top of her double life, Jessica’s preteen daughter is struggling but can’t seem to grab her mother’s attention between Instagram photos of dinner, playing up her ambiguous relationship with Dave, and managing her business. The mother-daughter relationship is an aspect of the novel that felt incredibly real. Being a single parent while running a business and juggling extracurriculars seems impossible. Jessica feels like she’s failing. However, that feeling of failure sets good parents apart from the bad; if you feel like everything really is fine with your kids and that you’re nailing it all, you might just be missing something grave. Seeing yourself as a failure is the badge of a good parent because it proves you care.

On top of her parenting woes, Jessica is dealing with her boyfriend (Ex-boyfriend? Fiancé? Well, let’s just say it’s complicated) her offbeat client Hugo dubbed ‘the penis guy’, her hilariously mom who is the queen of backhanded comments (her dialogue is some of the best I’ve ever read), and neglecting her lifelong best friend Bea who calls Jessica on all her crap. In the midst of the chaos, a new client appears, Robert Haydn whose book, Remembering Rainbows focuses on rediscovering the unabashed fun of childhood as an adult. This book, while cheesy on the outside, helps Jessica realize that she’s been taking all the wrong things seriously.

Everything is Fine is a fun, witty read. Jessica is currently one of my favorite characters. The shenanigans she gets into are masterful. Harvey’s comedic timing is top-notch, she keeps the laughs coming, and then when you least expect it, she cranks up the feels with real-life issues. Overall, I highly recommend Everything is Fine.

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The Guilty Die Twice | Book Review

The Guilty Die Twice by Don Heartshorn was gifted to me by TCKPublishing for an honest review.

It’s been a while since I’ve read a legal thriller. It’s not a genre I find myself reading often. I tend more towards mysteries, which The Guilty Die Twice provides, in addition to family drama and political intrigue. Overall, Heartshorn gives the reader a thrilling ride through a complex legal and political system where big decisions are made by old white guys in smoke-filled rooms.

The main plot follows estranged brothers Jake and Travis Lynch as they prepare to prosecute and defend the same case. Ten years before the story begins, Jake and Travis have a falling out that divides the Lynch family. Travis, suffering a crisis of consciousness around the death penalty resigns as Jake’s assistant at the District Attorney’s office, breaks with his family, and stakes out on his own. Jake begins to climb the political ladder and is voted in as DA of Austin, Texas. While Jake’s ambition leads to prosperity, Travi’s conviction of character leaves him struggling to pay the bills. Instead of charging what he’s worth, Travis takes trades of goods and services along with IOUs for this legal practice, knowing that most of his clients are also struggling financially.

The plot’s mystery revolves around the case that brings the Lynch brothers back together. Dubbed ‘The Rich Kid Murders’ by a local reporter Christine Morton, the mystery centers on who killed the rich kids? Was it Sam Park, Roger Laubach, or Mark Kidd, three teens from the wrong side of town?

There are two aspects of the story that go awry for me. The first is the murder. The piece of the novel which builds the mystery is that the scene where the actual murder takes place is omitted from the narrative. It is up to Jake and Travis to piece together the events of the evening and to figure out why it happened in the first place. This omission that creates the mystery is incredibly jarring. I had to reread the chapter before and after twice to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. The scene goes from Sam, Mark, and Roger showing up to Sam and Roger standing around confused, questioning what happened, and Mark running off.

The way the scene is written made me feel as if Sam and his crew showed up to find the Rich Kids already dead instead of being responsible for it. If this angle had been played up, the mystery might have been more compelling. Instead, the mystery is who pulled the trigger and why.

Another aspect that didn’t sit well with me was the female characters. Jake’s wife Rita is power-hungry and wants Jake to run for governor so she can have bragging rights. Shirley, Travis’s pregnant wife is constantly nagging him about how they can’t pay the bills and never protests when people place their hands on her baby belly (which pregnant hate). She finally gets so fed up with his trad-for-legal-work motto that she goes behind Travis’s back to his sister Clair for clients. Clair runs the Lynch legal legacy with her father. She does call her brothers out on their shenanigans but is such a tertiary character it hardly registers. Reporter Christine Morton is a hell-beast that will get her story no matter how many backs she has to dig her stilettos into to get it. She does seem to have a bit of growth at the end of the novel, but the reader is left to decide whether her growth is real or just talk. Karla the hooker (I’m not sure she has a last name) is never referred to as a sex worker, which sums up how the other characters view her in the story. Then there’s Mama Lynch, the elusive matriarch all the Lynch kids speak of with reverence and fear, but only has two scenes in the book where she’s more grandmotherly than the force of nature she’s made out to be.

While it may seem like there are lots of female characters in The Guilty Die Twice, their presence is minimal. Christine Morton and Shirley Lynch appear the most, yet Christine only raises the ire in the Lynches and Shirly creates guilt in Travis.

My take away from how the female characters are written is that this book is meant for a male audience. I am not its target demographic, and that’s fine. Not every book is written with me in mind. It would be ridiculous for me to expect every book to appeal to me personally. Yet, I was constantly reminded that The Guilty Die Twice is written by a man based solely on how the female characters are written.

While I wasn’t a fan of some of the characters, the copious male bravado, and the missed opportunity with the mystery, I did enjoy Heartshorn’s novel. The Guilty Die Twice is full of heart, excitement, a little backstabbing, and political intrigue to keep most readers engaged and turning the pages.

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Below the Surface Excerpt

Saka sat cross-legged atop Boadicea’s scratched and dented hull, double-checking her gear. The ship rocked in the gently rolling waves, the soft splash against the hull was the only sound to be heard. Before Saka could go over her equipment a third time, a sure sign she was stalling, she sighed and suited up.

She took precautions having heard tales, albethey tall tales, of the vicious monsters lurking beneath the planet’s aqua surface. She donned a wetsuit woven through with a durable polymer to protect her from being bitten, but not from being crushed between massive jaws. A thought she forced from her head. The toothless man who’d sold her the spear gun she strapped to her back had promised its accuracy and effectiveness. She hoped it worked better than whatever the old man used for dental care. She double-checked the charge on her headlamp and backup flashlight, and the aqua breather secured over her mouth and nose were in proper working order. The necessary yet bulky dive computer covered most of her left forearm. It would keep her on course and in touch with Boadicea though the aqua breather’s built in-radio. Finally, the stone key, the most vital piece of all. She brushed her dark hand over its smooth surface, her fingers trailing over raised glyphs populating the gray stone.

Confident she had everything needed to resurrect the ancient treasure, Saka took one last look around the vast watery wasteland and tucked the artifact into the zippered pocket of her wetsuit before lowering herself into the planet’s watery blue depths.

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Below the Surface Excerpt – All That Glitters is Prose

Saka sat cross-legged atop Boadicea’s scratched and dented hull, double-checking her gear. The ship rocked in the gently rolling waves, the soft splash against the hull was the only sound to be heard. Before Saka could go over her equipment a third time, a sure sign she was stalling, she sighed and suited up.

She took precautions having heard tales, albethey tall tales, of the vicious monsters lurking beneath the planet’s aqua surface. She donned a wetsuit woven through with a durable polymer to protect her from being bitten, but not from being crushed between massive jaws. A thought she forced from her head. The toothless man who’d sold her the spear gun she strapped to her back had promised its accuracy and effectiveness. She hoped it worked better than whatever the old man used for dental care. She double-checked the charge on her headlamp and backup flashlight, and the aqua breather secured over her mouth and nose were in proper working order. The necessary yet bulky dive computer covered most of her left forearm. It would keep her on course and in touch with Boadicea though the aqua breather’s built in-radio. Finally, the stone key, the most vital piece of all. She brushed her dark hand over its smooth surface, her fingers trailing over raised glyphs populating the gray stone.

Confident she had everything needed to resurrect the ancient treasure, Saka took one last look around the vast watery wasteland and tucked the artifact into the zippered pocket of her wetsuit before lowering herself into the planet’s watery blue depths.

If you’d like to read the full story, head over to Patreon and join the Book Club to receive exclusive content.

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All That Glitters is Prose – New Project

Well, it’s nearly over. 2020, one of the worst years on record since the 1820s is coming to a close. COVID kept us in our homes and away from our family and friends. As a result, some people’s creative juices flowed like white water rapids, while some partnerships dissolved due to distance and homebound constraints. I found myself in the latter category as my podcast, Demiworld crashed and burned in the absence of time away from a noisy child. One never knows how quiet a house can be in the absence of a seven-year-old.

New addition to our family. Snowy and Thunder. 2020 wasn’t all bad.

As the dumpster fire of 2020 raged, I decided that waiting to start a new project until the world “returned to normal” might be a pipe dream. It was adapt and start creating or forever wait from the elusive right moment. Thus, All That Glitter is Prose was birthed. I have long loved literary analysis and creative writing, so I decided to marry the two. Each month I will post either a short story, a chapter to a longer piece, or a piece of literary analysis to my new Patreon page (follow the link to check out the tiers).

My short fiction will include rewrites of some older stories, fresh shorts, and flash fiction. Literary analysis will delve into the historical perspective of a piece of writing and how the time in which it was written affected it or how the piece affected history. Literary analysis will include literature, speeches, songs, poetry, plays, and more.

All That Glitters is Prose is a passion project I’ve wanted to take on for years. I am so excited to finally announce it and get started on this new adventure. I hope you’ll join me.

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Review | Schmuck the Buck: Santa’s Jewish Reindeer by EXO Books

A Fun Frolicking Adult Holiday Picture Book – Schmuck the Buck

Schmuck the Buck, written by EXO Books and illustrated by Karina Shor (both pen names) is a satirical adult holiday story about a Jewish reindeer, Larry, who saves Christmas with his tech-savvy thinking.

At first, as I read through Schmuck, I wondered who would read this and how many times could they be expected to crack its cover? With kid’s books, the re-read value is a gold mine. All kids latch onto a favorite book for a time, forcing parents and caregivers to read them until each page is committed to memory. But the same is not so for adult picture books. Is Schmuck the Buck a book that would get pulled out ever Christmas along with the tree trimming and holiday trappings to sit by the fire and be read either aloud or silently? Well, I’m not sure, but I’d be willing to make it a holiday tradition. It’s funny, poking fun at cliche’s, and the illustrations are expressive and at times, hilarious.

Larry, a nerdy reindeer gets picked on at school. He’s ostracized by the cool reindeer and given the demeaning nickname, Schmuck. Later on, Larry takes a job at Santa’s workshop as an account. When all the toys get delivered without batteries, Larry suggests a mass text to all the parents letting them know of the oversight and where they can purchase the power supplies so Christmas isn’t ruined.

I loved the clever rhyme scheme, and never found it to be trite or expected, but then again, neither is the subject matter. Sort of in the vein of Rudolph the Red-nosed one, Schmuck the Buck has more grownup themes and makes references that kids won’t relate to.

My favorite part of the holiday experiences was when Larry and his family try to Skype with their grand-deer in Boca Raton and she can’t figure out how close to get to the webcam. I laughed out loud. Larry’s Bubby then goes on to call Santa a “chubby gentile.” Which of course Santa is. He’s the most famous and chubby of all the Gentiles. Another laugh out loud moment.

For a book that took me maybe twenty minutes to read, Schmuck the Buck packed full of jokes, some lovely character development, an unexpected story of Santa and his workshop, and a few stereotypes that don’t offend but instead bring a smile. I mean, I’m not even Jewish and I know retired Bubbys living in Boca. Schmuck the Buck makes a fun holiday gift for Jews and gentiles alike. Start a new holiday family tradition and put this cute, illustrated book on your coffee table for folks to read while they wait for the game to end or the carolers to leave.

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Educated by Tara Westover | Review

I just finished Educated by Tara Westover this morning, and I am moved by the sheer magnitude of her memoir. At points, more points than I like to remember, I cringed as she recounts her abuse, both mental and physical. I found myself cheering her on as she surmounted obstacle after obstacle and found herself, reborn, a phoenix from the flames of knowledge and self-reflection. People may wonder why one would want to share such a tragic and painful story. Why relive it? As one who has come from abuse as a child, escaped it as an adolescent only to discover I had willingly jumped into the viper’s nest and stayed because I, one, didn’t know anything else, and two, didn’t think I was worthy of better, say how could you not tell this story? This story needs to be yelled from the rooftops — you are not alone. We see you. We stand with you.

Educated follows Westover’s unconventional childhood and escape from a family cult and the repercussions of that escape. Born into a family of survivalists and religious zealots, Westover’s story is filled with mental abuse at the hands of her mother and father and physical abuse from her older brother Shawn. As I read, I found myself remembering my own struggles to escape an abusive childhood only to wind up in a similar situation with a family reminiscent of Westover’s.

The number of similarities is striking between my own experience and Westover’s. Both we’re Mormon, both had unrealistic views of womanhood, both believed the government was out to get them, both “homeschooled,” if that’s what you want to call it, and both believed doctors were evil and antibiotics were poisonous. The Illuminate and Communisis came up a lot in my own story as it does in Westover’s. Along with these shadowy government figures were the Grays, the so-called government conspiracies of JFK and the moon landing, satellite surveillance, and vaccinations.

In my story, only the older boys went to school (a few years in elementary), and only one out of the six earned a GED. Much like the Westover children, each child was whip-smart, living more in one year than most children do in five. They could reroof a house, dig an outhouse, install solar panels, rebuild a car engine, and fix any manner of household issues. In a nutshell, when the end times came, they would survive.

In Educated, on two separate occasions, Westover family members were badly burned while working in the junkyard. These burns occurred while removing gas tanks from junked cars with a welding torch. As Westover describes the scenes and the burns, I was transported back to when my boyfriend sustained a horrible burn on his arm and upper chest when his pickup overheated and the radiator cap exploded jettisoning a molten combination of water and antifreeze onto him as he checked the engine. My friend and I sat in the truck cab when we saw his figure through the gap in the raised hood leap several feet in the air and begin screaming. Panicked, we didn’t know what to do, but a friend of his family was nearby called his mother after administering a Demerol. One of his brothers picked him up and returned him home where he was slathered in homemade comfrey salve and given tinctures of goldenseal to prevent infection and a combination of lavender and mint oil for the pain. Unbeknownst to his mother, he continued taking bootleg Demoral for several days until the blistered flesh ceased to shoot pain into his brain. What astounds me in both Westover and my own story is that no one died or developed an infection. I would say these families were lucky. They would say it was the will of God.

What’s lacking in my story that Tara Westover’s contains in spades is physical abuse. While I did receive my share from my father in my preteen years, when my parents divorced these physical assaults ceased, excepted when I went to visit him. While the abuse I sustained at the hand of my father was mild compared to the abuse inflicted upon the Westover siblings by their older brother Shawn, abuse is abuse. As I read, I heard the voice of my therapist as I tried to downplay what my father had done to me; “Abuse should never happen, no matter how severe or slight. Never disregard what you’ve been through. It happened.” What people who haven’t been through physical abuse may not understand is the mental component. In Westover’s story, her parents turned a blind eye to what Shawn did to his siblings. In my case, it was my mother. The lack of acknowledgment and protection hurts just as much as the punches and slaps, the kicks, and the terror. Sometimes it hurts more. We can reconcile the bruises. They fade. The gaslighting that occurs afterward does not.

Educated is one of the most well-written memories I’ve read. Tara Westover’s language paints vivid pictures of a family living in the shadow of their mentally ill patriarch. It shows a family so consumed with their way of thinking that they see every outcome to an action as affirming their path of righteousness. Educated gives hope to those who have sustained abuse; you can get out and you can thrive. Tara Westover’s climb from the mountain she calls home is taken in steps and measures. To leave everything that you know is not something done with a clean break. Westover’s journey is inspiring and you can’t help but root for her the entire book.

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