At Thanksgiving brunch, I told my 3-year-old nephew I was going to take pine cones, cover them in peanut butter and roll them in birdseed to hang for our birds. That very night, the mother in the book I was reading took pine cones, covered them in peanut butter, rolled them in birdseed and hung them for her birds. This happens to me every now and again and I always take it to mean that I’m reading exactly the book I’m meant to be reading. In this case, it was Idaho by Emily Rustovich (pub date Jan 3 2017).
When I tell you what it’s about, you’ll wonder WHY IN THE WORLD I’m meant to be reading it at all. But guys, it’s good. It starts with a woman, Ann, and her husband Wade. They live clear up in the mountains in, you guessed it, Idaho. Wade is slowly sinking into dementia, like his father before him, in his mid-forties. We quickly learn that there is tragedy in his past – that Ann is his second wife, trying to suss out the details she wants to know but is afraid to ask. The thing of this novel is that WHAT happened is not the point. The point is Ann, dealing with the not-knowing, Wade, dealing with the forgetting, some of the other characters living with the burden of knowing exactly what did happen. Such a beautifully written story, one that kept me reading and continually impressed. 4 stars
Also: I’m back in the bookstore for the next four Saturdays, 10-2. Expect a blog soon about my top 10 or so books of 2016!