There’s something really exciting about reading an author’s first work, so when I was offered the opportunity to review Rolf Hitzer’s debut novel, Hoodoo Sea, I jumped at the chance. After all, I like a good action-adventure novel, and coming home from a vacation that involved climbing lighthouses and hanging out at murky cold beaches put me in just the right frame of mind for such a work.

In Hoodoo Sea, Hitzer introduces us to Scott Reed, a NASA wing commander chosen to command the test mission of the first speed-of-light craft. Oh, and Reed, like the author, is Canadian.

Reed and his three teammates take off with no issue, and immediately head for that part of the ocean known as “Hoodoo Sea” by navy types, and “the Bermuda triangle” by the rest of us. Their craft is surrounded by a dense fog, instruments go wonky, and there are flashes of bright light. Finally, they land, but on an Island populated by hunter-gatherer types and giant wolves with flashlight-bright eyes. This is where their adventure really begins.

Part action-adventure, part survival tale, and part paranormal thriller, Hoodoo Sea is a compelling read, with strong characters and just enough detail to allow the reader to visualize the scene without feeling like it’s overkill.

I liked that the mission team included a woman, and that the American vs. Canadian bickering was realistic without overpowering the plot. I enjoyed the descriptions of the native population, including Tribefeeder Henpo, and the hints that the wolves might not be wolves.

I confess, that when my stepfather, who peeked at the book before I could, pointed out that author Hitzer is from Winnipeg, just like his main character, I was a bit concerned there would be elements of “Marty Stu-ism” – self insertion – but the story didn’t read that way.

While the ending seemed a bit abrupt, and had a sort of “but it was all a dream” cheat that most writers are warned against in high school, in this novel, that device worked well, and did not in any way diminish the story.

Congratulations, Rolf Hitzer, on a great first novel. More, please?

Check back on Monday , October 26th for a guest post from Rolf Hitzer.

When a friend gave me almost the entire collection of Charlaine Harris’s Aurora Teagarden mysteries to read, I was a little bit leary. After all, this was the same woman who had captured my attention with the Sookie Stackhouse books. How would her earlier series compare?

I had nothing to worry about, at least with book one, Real Murders. It’s the story of a serial killer who is committing crimes and staging them to look like famous murders of the past, and it’s quite entrancing. Already, I’m eager to see what happens next with Aurora “Roe” Teagarden, mild mannered librarian.

In truth, these books are somewhat akin to literary air filters, washing away the fast-paced, sex-laden stories that are so prevalent today (not that I mind sex, really, but, still…) and replacing them with slower, gentler stories where plot and character are explored with a sense of graciousness.

I’ve no idea what I’ll find in book two. But I’m looking forward to the experience.

I bought the book Dove shortly after re-reading Maiden Voyage, because it kept showing up on Amazon’s list of “people who bought this book also liked…” and reading about people going to see on sailing ships is a welcome respite from the world of articles about auto insurance quotes that I generally inhabit.

After reading it, I’m a bit disappointed, because it didn’t have the same pull for me that Aeibi’s book did, but overall I thought it was an interesting tale of a young man who didn’t really fit in the conventional world, finding himself on the sea.

Where Aebi’s Maiden Voyage happened during a time when she and I were of a similar age, Dove takes place in the late sixties, and there are minor cultural issues – generally the treatment of Polynesian people and culture – that I found a little disturbing.

For the most part, however, Dove (which is the name of author Graham’s boat), is a grand adventure, with a bit of nostalgia mixed in.

When I saw The Wednesday Sisters on the “new in paperback” table at Barnes and Noble, I had to read the back cover. I did so, and took it home, along with about twelve other books.

In my defense – not that one needs to DEFEND book buying – I had spent almost an entire week writing about things like life insurance leads and how to save money on car insurance, and stuff like that, so I needed a lot of summer reading material.

I confess, I was hoping The Wednesday Sisters would be similar to The Jane Austen Book Club, but it was not, though both share, at their core, a story about close friendships among women.

Instead, Clayton’s book, which takes place in the late 1960s and early 1970s is a gentle story of personal growth and deep bonding, all tied in with the desire to write and publish ones own fiction – a desire I completely empathize with, since I am attempting the same.

The different women in the story were all well-drawn, with distinct voices, and while there was no snark, there were moments of real humor. Likewise, when one of the women begins dealing with breast cancer, there were moments of poignancy that would be difficult to match.

Was The Wednesday Sisters what I was expecting? No. Would I recommend it anyway? YES!

When I saw Atria Book’s advertising their Galley Grab event on Twitter, I had to go pick some books. The arrived recently, and among them was Jennifer Weiner’s latest novel, Best Friends Forever. As with most of her books, I devoured it in the space of one or two afternoons and evenings.

Weiner, of course, has the talent of being able to give us a view of life as clear as if it had been recorded by one of the latest, greatest camcorders, but in this novel, the lens has a darker filter than her usual work. She’s grown from chick lit to serious fiction, and while the story is just as compelling as any of her others, the darker, more serious tone may be a bit jarring to someone expecting something like Good in Bed or In Her Shoes.

The story, as the title implies, is that of two friends. Val and Addie met in childhood, bonded, and then separated after high school, as often happens. When Val shows up at Addie’s door years later, bloodstained and shocky, how can she deny her best friend anything?

What follows is a sort of grown-up road trip, both physical and metaphysical, and at journey’s end, both women are more in touch with themselves and each other.

Anyone who has ever tried to lose weight can tell you that water is one of the best diet supplements. Anyone who knows me can tell you that water is my element, even though by birth I’m a fire sign. What can I say? Opposites attract.

It should come as no surprise, then, that when I saw a novel entitled Water Witches staring at me from the shelves at Barnes and Nobel, I HAD to take it home, and yet, I left it on my own shelves for months before cracking it open earlier this week.

What I found was a gently comic novel with a hint of fantasy, about dowsers in Vermont trying to fix a drought, while the protagonist of the novel, who was father, husband, and brother-in-law to these dowsing women, was working to aid a ski resort in gaining the proper permits to tap a local river in order to make snow.

As is to be expected in a novel about rural Vermont, there were colorful characters, cozy home scenes, and talk of maple syrup. What I did not expect, what surprised and delighted me, was the way the politics of environmentalism were worked in without the novel ever feeling preachy.

I don’t think I’m likely to pick up a divining rod and go searching for hidden springs under my front lawn, but I did, after reading this lovely little novel, spend a happy hour poking around the website for the American Society of Dowsers.

In the latest installment of the Holmes and Russell series, The Language of Bees the bees Holmes is raising in Sussex serve as both metaphor and counterpoint to the action-packed mystery. One of his hives is swarming, something bees apparently do when they suspect their keeper is not returning, and Mary is left alone with that problem, as Holmes as followed their latest client into London.

The nature of this story makes it impossible to review without minor spoilers. The client is question Holmes’ son, we are told, from an affair he had with Irene Adler during the years in which he was supposed to be dead. The mystery: the location of this grown son’s wife and small daughter.

Obviously there are tramps across wet moors, nights spent in boltholes with amenities (or a lack thereof) that are a far cry from the scale of a Riviera hotel – in fact, over the entire series both Holmes and Mary Russell have spent an inordinate amount of time being wet, dirty, cold, or hungry – conditions I normally object to reading about, but don’t mind in these stories in the slightest.

There is also familial angst (what if Holmes’ son murdered is family, what if Holmes’ loyalty is to the son he barely knows rather than Mary?) and a wild aeroplane flight to enhance the mystery.

Sadly, while the mystery is solved, at the end of the novel we are confronted with three words that the author says were meant to offer hope of another story, but which I always find frustrating: To be continued.

Goes well with hot tea and scones or crumpets followed by a hot bubble bath.

I’m not sure if I introduced Anne Rivers Siddons’ work to my mother, or if she introduced it to me, but when you want something a little bit beachy and a little bit romantic, with vibrant women characters, no one beats her. This is especially true of her most recent book, Off Season.

In this novel, we are once again on the coast of New England, this time in Maine, in Carters Cove, following the life of a feisty girl named Lilly as she meets her first love (at the tender age of eleven), keeps tabs on the local osprey population, and does gymnastics in the basement gym built by her father.

As she grows up, we see her relationship with her artist-mother, her marriage to the devoted Cam, an architect, and the birth of her children, but her dog, Wilma, and the summer home in Maine are Lilly’s two touchstones, and at time function as additional characters.

Siddons excels at these gentle, dreamy stories of individual women, most of whom are somehow artistic, and the strong, complicated men they marry, and even when her tales veer into implausibility, they still leave you with the sense that you’ve read a really satisfying story.

Goes well with: Ice cold lemonade, a porch swing, and a cotton throw rug.

Water for Elephants was one of the best books I’d ever read, so when I was in the Mexico City airport last week with 500 pesos and an extra ninety minutes before my flight – and nothing to read – I took a chance and got Sara Gruen’s earlier book Riding Lessons.

I was expecting plain prose that nevertheless forms incredibly vivid imagery, but I was not expecting a novel that was essentially a conventional romance, albeit one dressed up for dressage and including an angst-ridden mother-daughter relationship. What is it about everyone writing snotty teenagers into their work lately?

Simplified, the plot seems almost cliche: Annemarie has a tragic accident while competing in an equestrian event, turns her back on all things equine, marries a man she doesn’t really love, and ends up divorced with a snotty teenaged daughter. She moves back home to the family farm (and riding academy) where she makes her peace with her estranged mother and dying father, strikes up a romance with the local vet, whom she knew as a much younger woman, and yes, eventually does save the farm and live to tell about it.

Of course, there’s a second love affair in the tale as well: that of Annemarie and her horse, Highland Harry, who died in the tragic accident, and the new horse, troubled and injured, she adopts from the vet’s rescue, and insists is Harry’s long-lost brother.

Fans of romance and horses will enjoy this book, and I must admit, for a cliche it was still an enjoyable read, but I’m glad Gruen’s storytelling has evolved since this was originally published.

Goes well with: Strong coffee, worn jeans, and country-western music. Even if it does take place in New Hampshire.

I first saw The Beach House when I was working on a project for a writing conference I attended last August, but I resisted buying it. Then, last fall, I finally picked it up, because I was missing the sea and liked the title.

In this novel, Nan Powell, a sixty-five year old widow who lives in a sprawling home in a New England beachfront town, is faced with loneliness and a house that is both too large and to big to maintain, so she decides to rent out rooms for the summer.

As inevitably happens, the various tenants, who include a newly divorced mother and her teen-aged daughter, a recently divorced man who is coming to realize that he’s gay, and her own son who has never been able to commit to one woman, draw together to form a quirky, if loyal extended family.

What could be boring and predictable, in author Green’s deft hands, is lovely and poignant, at least in some places, and outright funny in others.

Goes well with a summer day and a pitcher of lemonade.