TLC Book Tours: City of Hope

City-of-Hope-198x300The decade of the 1930's was difficult for everyone, but especially for young Ellie Hogan, whose beloved husband dies suddenly. She decides to leave Ireland and return to New York City, a place that holds happy memories for her. But although the Depression has changed the city she once loved, Ellie is determined to create a new life for herself. She plunges all her energy into creating a home and refuge for some of the cities many homeless people. In return, she receives more love and friendship than she ever thought possible, and begins to feel the first faint stirrings of hope and happiness once more. And then someone from the past appears, someone she thought she would never see again - and pieces of Ellie's past that she thought were long gone suddenly resurface, threatening her newfound hope for the future.

Ellie Hogan is a female character I refer to as the "teabag type" - she doesn't realize her own strength until she gets into hot water. I love stories about women who reach into their deepest selves and find their true mettle, and City of Hope is just such a story. Author Kate Kerrigan has created a admirable, inspiring character in her Ellie Hogan, a woman ahead of her time in terms of ambition and ideas - added to that is her beautiful rendering of the historical period and a likable cast of characters.

City of Hope was a fabulous addition to my historical novel library, and I'm eager to read Kerrigan's first novel Ellis Island. Thanks to TLC Book Tours for the opportunity to read this novel.

Time

Busy busy, so much to do. Once again I'm the Mad Hatter, running around trying to get things ready for the tea party.

I came across this poem today, written about seven years ago. Seems I was just as busy then as I am now.

And this is still an appropriate way to describe Time.

TIME

Flying
doesn't begin to describe
what happens to it
More like
 disintegrate, evaporate, eviscerate
 My lack of it
cuts me
like the sharpest of knives
in my drawer
The one I use for carrots
or steak
Little pieces of it
get swept into the dust bin
tossed away
before I know they're gone
Panicked
I rummage through the trash
hoping to find a morsel
I can still put to good use
Elated
I grab scraps -
ten minutes here
fifteen there
Could it be I've found
one hour
soggy and tattered
amidst the rubble?
Clutching this treasure
this time of my own,
I weep
Then throw wide the door
and
fly

 

TLC Book Tours: The Virgin Cure

The Virgin CureBeing a huge fan of historical novels, I was eager to read The Virgin Cure, by Ami McKay, a new-to-me Canadian author whose first novel (The Birth House) was a number one best seller in that country. I'm not surprised, because McKay's writing and story telling skills are epic. The Virgin Cure is set in Lower Manhattan circa 1871. It's the story of Moth, a young girl growing up alone on some very mean streets filled with orphaned children and desperate women trying to eke out some kind of living. Moth's father is long gone, and her mother is a Gypsy fortune teller who sells her 12 year old daughter into servitude with a cruel, abusive society matron. Moth eventually escapes and spends some months on the streets before she is taken in by the charming Miss Everett, a Madam who runs something called an Infant School, which is really a brothel catering to gentlemen willing to pay a premium for desirable young virgins like Moth. In fact, some of them are seeking the fabled "Virgin Cure" - the belief that having intercourse with a virgin will cure them of syphilis. Moth's friendship with Dr. Sadie, a female physician who works among the indigent population, gives her the courage she needs to see a better life for herself.

Moth is a totally engaging character, and I longed to reach back in time and scoop her up for myself, bring her home with me and give her a good life. McKay creates such breathtaking word pictures that reading the novel is almost frightening at times, the reader feels so involved in the time and place.

And what a time and place! We talk a lot today about the poor situations children find themselves in - gangs and single parent families, hunger and lack of education. We tend to forget the history of maltreatment of children in this country. In an author's Ami McKaynote, McKay writes that over 30,000 children lived on the streets of New York city in 1870. Even more of them wandered in and out of tenements as their families struggled to find food and shelter. Most of these children were illiterate and would end up as thieves and prostitutes, dead before they ever reached adulthood. McKay's interest in this time period was sparked when she learned about her own great-great grandmother, the original Dr. Sadie, who worked the streets of New York along with Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell, the first female physician, caring for the women and children of the city.

The Virgin Cure is a fascinating look at this time and place in our history. But it's also a story of perseverance and hope. Because Moth does find good people among the bad, people who care about her and are willing to help her, people who step up to make a difference, one child at a time.

Sometimes, for a moment, everything is just as you need it to be. The memories of such moments live in the heart, waiting for the time you need to think on them, if only to remind yourself that for a short while, everything had been fine, and might be so again. I didn't have many memories like that...No matter what might happen or what fate Miss Everett had in store for me, I now had the image of Miss Suzie Lowe to place alongside them. She would remind me that I was a girl who longed for things, a girl who wanted to become something more than she was seen to be.

If you enjoy historical novels, I highly recommend this book.

Connect with Ami McKay here:

WebsiteFacebook pageTwitter account,  Pinterest board.

Singing and Swinging

child on a swingOne of my favorite childhood past times was swinging on the swing set in our backyard. And while I was swinging, I was singing, the volume of my voice increasing as my short legs pumped the air, propelling me higher and higher toward the blue sky. I sang "This Old Man," and "Row Row Row Your Boat." I made up a song using the words from Robert Louis Stevenson's children's poem (How do you like to go up in a swing...up in the air so blue? Oh I do think it's the pleasantest thing that ever a child can do!) It was exhilarating and satisfying and comforting all at once.

As soon as I was able, I joined the elementary school Glee Club, and eventually graduated into the Madrigal singers. There were only six of us, and we were all good friends. We got to wear nifty blue sashes and we felt very self-important singing a cappella. I cannot tell you how much I loved it. But maybe that's evident because it's such a strong memory 45 years later.

The notion of singing being fun isn't new to me.

The science behind the experience of it, however - well, that's something I'm enjoying learning about.

Read more about it in my post today on Medium.

Write On Wednesday: For the Longest Time

wow_button1-9-1Last night I realized I hadn't written anything on my blog in the longest time, and I stared feeling nostalgic for the olden days of blogging. Many years ago (seven!) when I began writing in this online space, I wrote nearly every day - partly because of the excitement that comes with a new venture, but also because of the connections forming between myself and other writers. We visited each other's writing spaces daily, like children checking their secret hidey-hole in a hollow tree to see if any new messages had arrived. We joined and created groups that provided prompts for our writing, that gave us a little spark to incite ideas to flow.

We wrote and wrote, telling our stories, honing our skills, learning from each other about writing and life. We emboldened one another to try new things - poetry, haiku, flash fiction, even novels. We encouraged and cheered from whatever part of the world we lived.

Over time most of those connections have faded into the ether. People who bared their souls in words on the screen suddenly disappear from orbit. Having no other way to contact them, one is forced to ponder - were they real? did they exist? have they been abducted by aliens?

I miss them. Miss their unique voices, miss their life stories, miss the inspiration and impetus to write they often provided me. Like the cafe society that Fitzgerald and Hemingway enjoyed so much, the online society of writers we formed in those days was a way to connect with others, to share ideas, to support each others efforts, to discuss books and art and life in general. In this decade, it seems  that personal blogging has been usurped by the faster, quicker connections of Facebook and Twitter.

Writing is a solitary occupation. And writers tend to savor the solitary, so much so that we forget how much there is to be gained by sharing ourselves with others.

I'd like to enjoy that again.

How about you?