The Ancient Nine

by Ian K. Smith

Goodreads

Buy Links:

Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Powells

Books-a-Million / IndieBound

Summary:

Spenser Collins
An unlikely Harvard prospect, smart and athletic, strapped for cash, determined to succeed. Calls his mother—who raised him on her own in Chicago—every week.

Dalton Winthrop
A white-shoe legacy at Harvard, he’s just the most recent in a string of moneyed, privileged Winthrop men in Cambridge. He’s got the ease—and the deep knowledge—that come from belonging.

These two find enough common ground to become friends, cementing their bond when Spenser is “punched” to join the Delphic Club, one of the most exclusive of Harvard’s famous all-male final clubs. Founded in the nineteenth century, the Delphic has had titans of industry, Hollywood legends, heads of state, and power brokers among its members.

Dalton Winthrop knows firsthand that the Delphic doesn’t offer memberships to just anyone. His great-uncle is one of their oldest living members, and Dalton grew up on stories of the club’s rituals. But why is his uncle so cryptic about the Ancient Nine, a shadowy group of alums whose identities are unknown and whose power is absolute? They protect the Delphic’s darkest and oldest secrets—including what happened to a student who sneaked into the club’s stately brick mansion in 1927 and was never seen again.

Dalton steers Spenser into deeper and deeper recesses of the club, and beyond it, to try to make sense of what they think they may be seeing. But with each scrap of information they get from an octogenarian Crimson graduate, a crumbling newspaper in the library’s archives, or one of Harvard’s most famous and heavily guarded historical books, a fresh complication trips them up. The more the friends investigate, the more questions they unearth, tangling the story of the club, the disappearance, and the Ancient Nine, until they realize their own lives are in danger.

My Rating:

Favorite Quotes:

I rarely felt self-conscious about what I did or didn’t have, but it wasn’t lost on me that my competitors for a coveted membership were arriving in expensive foreign cars while I arrived in a pair of sturdy five-year-old Florsheims that had been resoled four times and polished so much, the white stitching had turned black.

The racial politics at Harvard were complicated. Black students were in a tough position. If we spent too much time with white students, other blacks figured we had sold out. If we spent too much time with other black students, our white classmates figured we were angry separatists. The dining hall was one big murky fishbowl of social complexities. Everyone looked to see who was sitting with whom and how much time they spent interacting on the “other” side. I was lucky because playing a sport gave me a pass that the non-athletes didn’t have. By dint of my team and training obligations, I automatically spent time with both blacks and whites, which gave me immunity.

He had heavy bags under his eyes, as if miniature pillows had been slipped under his skin. He was military stocky and wore a pair of jeans that looked tight enough to constipate him.

Her T-shirt had j-u-i-c-y spread across it in small crystals, and the fabric was under so much tension, I thought the I was going to pop off and hit me in the face.

There were two things about Professor Charles Davenport that you’d never forget. He probably had the biggest ears of any man that’s walked the face of the earth, long doughy flaps that fell beneath his jawline with a forest of hair growing out of them. Then there were those glasses, big and black and rectangular, made all the more prominent by his hairless dome.

She had an uncanny ability to quickly put things into perspective and make molehills out of mountains.

Many people never even bothered leaving the tailgates, and most of those who did only entered the stadium at halftime, when their champagne had run dry or their canisters of caviar were empty. This crowd even cheered differently. They didn’t yell and clap like most football fans. Rather they spoke complete, grammatically correct sentences, saying things like, “What a magnificent play!” and “Thrash them, Harvard!” Sometimes it was difficult to tell if they were watching a football game or croquet match.

When the Harvard side of the stadium rose in unison, it was not to clap, but to jingle car keys in a massive show of approval. I watched in awe as thousands of Jaguar, Mercedes, and Rolls-Royce keys dangled in the air…

Money has an insidious way of making decent human beings behave in a most indecent way.

My Review:

I wasn’t prepared for the complexity of this intriguing read and held on through a complicated and intricately woven tale with multiple yet equally compelling storylines. I pictured a handsome future President of recent history as the main character and it was a near perfect fit. There were compounded secrets within secrets and an endless and tantalizing quagmire to unravel. The writing was insightfully observant and sumptuously detailed. I reveled in Dr. Smith’s vividly colorful and amusing descriptions and looked forward to the introductions of each new character and locale. His premise pricked my curiosity and his well-crafted storylines kept it well fed while consistently pulling me in deeper and deeper into the group’s knotty and clandestine vortex. Like an iceberg, little was as it appeared to the eye. The characters were oddly unique and quirky, even the sinister ones held my interest and left me thirsting for more. The ending was highly satisfying with Spenser’s achieved results being better than expected and left a contented smile on my face.

Author Bio:

Ian K. Smith is the author of nine New York Times bestselling nonfiction books, several of them, including Shred and Super Shred, #1 bestsellers, as well as one previous work of fiction, The Blackbird Papers. He is a graduate of Harvard, Columbia, and the University of Chicago’s Pritzker School of Medicine.

Social Links:

Facebook: @Dr.IanKSmith

Twitter: @DrIanSmith

Author Website

Instagram: @doctoriansmith

The Oddest Little Cornish Tea Shop

by Beth Good

Goodreads

Amazon US / UK  / B&N

‘I love Beth Good’s quirky style!’ Katie Fforde

It’s a big day for Charlie Bell – the grand reopening of her Aunt Pansy’s long-closed tea rooms in Tremevissey, a quaint Cornish seaside resort. But not everyone is happy for Charlie. The locals say the tea rooms are cursed. For Pansy was cruelly jilted by her lover, and walked out into the ocean, never to return.

Charlie dismisses the ‘curse’ as superstitious nonsense, but by the end of the first day, her world is in tatters, and she’s not even sure the tea rooms can open again.

Then in walks a rugged, taciturn man with a sexy smile and everything he owns on his back, looking for a summer job . . .

Is Gideon Petherick an angel in disguise? Or is history about to repeat itself?

The latest novella in Beth Good’s quirky and popular ‘Oddest Little Shop’ romcom series.

My Rating:

Favorite Quotes:

…‘are you having it off with that total sex god, Gideon Petherick? … Oh come on, don’t tell me you’re too shy to admit it. I’d be telling anyone who’d listen if I’d caught someone like that.’ Elsie wriggled oddly beside her, as though her knickers were too tight and she was trying to adjust them. ‘After all, look at him. It’s not like he isn’t the sexiest beast on two legs in this back-of-beyond village. If I was you, I’d have jumped his bones soon as he walked into my place.’

Elsie fell silent suddenly, then made a kind of strangled moaning noise in the back of her throat. She was staring at Gideon’s rear as he bent over the pool table to take his shot. ‘Christ, will you look at that? I bet that’s a mouth-watering parcel in tight, white cotton boxers… Like two hardboiled eggs in a hanky,’ she finished under her breath.

‘Maybe a little bit handsome,’ she ventured, careful not to let him see how sexy she found him. Even though she had probably given it away once or twice. Okay, definitely twice. ‘Definitely not as hot as Poldark. But you’re … passable. It wouldn’t be a hardship to be seen in public with you, let me put it that way. Especially in a posh car,’ she added shamelessly.

My Review:

I have come to the end of my Beth Good stash and am feeling a bit melancholy and rueful having completed this one as it is the last treat in the bag for me as I’ve now finished all the published installments of the Odd Little Shop series. I enjoyed the curiosity prickling storyline and adored all the colorful characters in this one. Poor Charlie, she had worked so hard to reestablish her family’s business but a string of disasters struck during the Grand Re-Opening the of the Cornish Tea Rooms, mainly due to personnel issues, like grossly incompetent ones. The locals had long claimed the Tea Rooms were cursed, but Charlie didn’t think so. Luckily, all was not lost as a very sexy knight in shining apron named Gideon arrived on her doorstep seeking a job. Gideon had the ladies all a flutter and overheating and caused Charlie to have recurring problems with concentration and breathing.   They worked well together and found their collaboration leading to a different kind of business after-hours, which produced high temperatures in other rooms besides the kitchen.

How unexpected and ingenious for a series to not overlap in some way. I personally believe the divine and sublime Ms. Good should continue this cleverly amusing series into perpetuity, and why not? Cornwall appears to be a treasure trove of quirky villages with which she could continue to apply her own distinct and special blend of witty wares. I have cherished each of her five uniquely appealing and mirthfully entertaining novellas and she has hooked me with her pleasantly addictive style, and like a crack-head on the pipe, I feel rather desolate with the inability to reach for more.

Author Bio –

Born and raised in Essex, England, Beth Good was whisked away to an island tax haven at the age of eleven to attend an exclusive public school and rub shoulders with the rich and famous. Sadly, she never became rich or famous herself, so had to settle for infamy as a writer of dubious novels. She writes under several different names, mainly to avoid confusing her readers – and herself! As Beth Good, she writes romantic comedy and feel-good fiction. She also writes thrillers as Jane Holland, historicals as Victoria Lamb and Elizabeth Moss, and feel-good fiction as Hannah Coates.

Beth currently lives in the West Country where she spends a great deal of time thinking romantic thoughts while staring out of her window at sheep. (These two actions are unrelated.)

You can find her most days on Twitter as @BethGoodWriter where she occasionally indulges in pointless banter about chocolate making and the Great British Bake Off. Due to a basic inability to say no, she has too many children and not enough money, which means she needs as many readers as she can get.

Social Media Links –

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/BethGoodAuthor

TWITTER: https://twitter.com/BethGoodWriter

Designer You

by Sarahlyn Bruck

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Indiebound

My Rating:

Favorite Quotes:

She was sick with rage and fear that Nate had the audacity to be dead on today of all days. Insensitive jerk. Just the idea of getting up on stage by herself made her stomach cramp and she’d been in and out of the bathroom during the entire flight.

Pam thought her entire outfit didn’t cost half as much as the shoes the hostess was wearing. At once, she felt too young and unsophisticated, like the kid at the adult table at Thanksgiving who longs to be back at the kids’ table with her younger cousins eating turkey in front of a Disney cartoon.

She wasn’t sure what hurt more, the casualness with which Grace could just fling insults at her or the fact that so often those insults were based in truth.

Nate himself would never fade, but those little details would start to get fuzzy in the same way any memory blurs over time. She clung to the impossible wish that she could hold onto everything about Nate, save it all onto a disk or a thumb drive, and whenever she wasn’t sure about the details of an experience she’d had with him, she could pull it up on her laptop and experience that trip, that meal, that birthday, all over again.

My Review:

I grew increasingly restless as I pushed through this book – it really wasn’t to my taste. I should have stopped reading and pushed this one in the DNF pile. The premise had promise and while there were a few glimmers of entertaining observations, I found the overall execution to be mundane and morose. I kept waiting for the story to improve and sadly, it just never did. While it wasn’t bad, it was just middle of the road, real-life humdrum type of okay.   The characters were exasperating and annoying and weren’t people I could care for or about, nor were they endearing to me, as the mourning widow seemed to have bailed on everything except finishing her deceased husband’s projects. Her priorities were askew and in particular, she wasn’t parenting and selfishly leaving her grieving teenaged daughter fending for herself and growing increasingly resentful, defiant and obnoxious, and making extremely poor choices.   Like many neglectful parents, instead of seeking help or providing consequences, she threw money at it and little else until it was too late. By the time the mother finally gained some insights and their relationship had started to turn around, the story stopped. And I truly mean it just stopped, without an ending, which is something I find particularly irksome. But maybe it is just me, as this story seems to have tripped several landmines in the field of my pet peeves.

The Craft Room
by Dave Holwill

Goodreads

Sylvia Blackwell is tired. Her grandchildren are being kept away from her, and the expected inheritance that might finally get her middle-aged son to move out has failed to materialize – thanks to her mother’s cat. It is becoming increasingly difficult to remain composed. On a romantic clifftop walk for her 47th Wedding Anniversary, an unexpected opportunity leads to a momentous decision that will irretrievably change the course of her life.

The Craft Room is a darkly comic tale of sex, crepe paper, murder and knitting in a sleepy Devon town, with a ‘truly original’ premise and genuinely jaw-dropping moments. What would you do if unexpectedly freed from bondage you never knew you were in? How would your children cope? How far would you go to protect them from an uncomfortable truth? You can only push a grandmother so far…

My Rating:

Favorite Quotes:

His back prevented him from doing any heavy lifting (though not from swinging golf clubs or working on his vintage Aston Martin) so he was acting as driver, organiser and supervisor. He decided to exercise his supervisory skills, straightened his tie in the mirror, and hopped out again to rally the team. An hour of encouraging sarcasm, withering looks and occasional shouts of ‘come on!’ later, the van was loaded and they headed off… He made the best of it, helping them along with encouraging remarks like, ‘careful those stringy arms of yours don’t come out of their sockets son,’ and, ‘I think your mother’ll have to carry this one, it’s probably a bit heavy for you.’

‘It’s almost funny you know,’ Ron said, as the silence grew oppressive, ‘we probably won’t be out of debt now until one of us dies!’ ‘Ron!’ Sylvia exclaimed, ‘you shouldn’t even joke about that.’ She tried not to overdo her shock – in case Ron realised she had already started work on his eulogy.

Those people were incredibly dull, and refused to accept that Batman: Year One is credible literature – bloody snobs… I wanted to love that book group Frank, I have read all the Hardy Boys mysteries, did they care?

… looking at the sad, impaled remains of what to him would always be a tweedy, waist-coated, wise old friend (rather than a big, vicious bastard that would bite your hand off if you stuck it in the wrong hedge). Don was not really a country boy at heart, and his only experience with wildlife came from books and cartoons.

My Review:

This book and its main character were superbly crafty, in every sense of the word. Laced with wry wit and wickedly clever humor, this cunningly observant and insightfully written book was found treasure. I am having a hard time classifying the genre beyond literary fiction. The storylines were highly entertaining, well integrated and smartly paced.   While the narrative was skillfully written and slyly amusing, the humor was dark, furtively devious, and brilliantly stealthy. The pace was slow yet pleasantly relaxing while secrets were gradually uncovered and the body count quietly ticked up.

I relished this well-honed book from start to finish. The characters were well-drawn, fascinatingly flawed, and rather loathsome, even the ones I admired or pitied the most. Yet I was captivated and my curiosity was on red button high alert. I took great delight in the author’s artful handling of the inner musings of the undetected and repressed sociopathic characteristics of Sylvia.   Sylvia was the craftiest of the crafters, a dependable and stalwart community participant and longtime Sunday School teacher who had diligently plotted and schemed  while she  labored tirelessly to maintain her position as the reigning community queen bee for decades – until her latest entry was ranked as second place. Gasp! This painful slight seemed to signal the turning of the tide for Sylvia as her patience, and apparently, her conscience had worn thin. Soon thereafter, she seemed to be uncannily present during a series of accidental deaths. Not all of which were her fault, although she nimbly and resourcefully may have hastened them, just a bit.

Author Bio

Dave Holwill was born in Guildford in 1977 and quickly decided that he preferred the Westcountry – moving to Devon in 1983 (with some input from his parents).
After an expensive (and possibly wasted) education there, he has worked variously as a postman, a framer, and a print department manager (though if you are the only person in the department then can you really be called a manager?) all whilst continuing to play in every kind of band imaginable on most instruments you can think of.

His debut novel, Weekend Rockstars, was published in August 2016 to favorable reviews and his second The Craft Room (a very dark comedy concerning death through misadventure) came out in August 2017. He is currently in editing hell with the third.

Social Media Links –

https://www.facebook.com/daveholwill100

https://twitter.com/daveholwill

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15584279.Dave_Holwill

https://www.instagram.com/dave_holwill/

http://davedoesntwriteanythingever.blogspot.com/

The Oddest Little Chocolate Shop

by Beth Good

Goodreads

Amazon US / UK  / B&N

Treat yourself to something delicious . . .

‘I love Beth Good’s quirky style!’ – bestselling author Katie Fforde

When Clementine discovers that Monsieur Ravel’s beloved chocolaterie is about to close, she rushes to rescue it – without thinking through the consequences.

A lost Persian cat, a depressed but utterly gorgeous French chocolatier, an allergic shop assistant in search of true love, the oddest little chocolate shop Clementine has ever seen . . .

Can Clementine save them all, or has she bitten off more than she can chew?

A delicious, feel-good novella set in the world of chocolate-making from popular romantic comedy writer Beth Good.

My Rating:

Favorite Quotes:

… she was twenty-three and every chocolate she consumed seemed to find its way unerringly to her hips, thighs and squashy bottom. So she had sworn not to touch chocolate for an entire year, one of those absurd promises you make when you step on the scales after a long period of backsliding and wonder if cutting your hair would make a difference.

Her reflection stared back at her mutely: a too-tall blonde with flyaway hair that simply would not behave on this windy day, slanted hazel eyes and a generous mouth. Generous, her mother used to say, because it was forever opening and spouting words. And usually at the worst possible moments.

Clementine considered the very real possibility of throwing herself out of the window but then decided she would not fit through the narrow frame. Attempting a dramatic suicide and getting her hips stuck would not help matters. Or salve her wounded ego.

My Review:

In less than a week I have become an ardent worshipper at the altar of the comedic goddess known as Beth Good, no joke – I will fangirl her hard.   She is found treasure and a recent discovery for me. Her perfect arrangements of words fill me with rapturous glee and a cascade of giggle-snorts while adding a near-constant smirk and impish twinkle to my facial expression. Her cleverly amusing tales are packed with snappy humor, original and uniquely quirky characters, and a delightfully engaging and entertaining writing style. I adored her calamitous Clementine with her highly active imagination, clumsiness, death touch to mechanical devices, and riotous daydreams.   The Oddest Little Chocolate Shop was definitely a tasty treat from start to finish and the source for my latest Brit Vocab List entry of dogsbody, which Mr. Google told me was informal British for, “a person who is given boring, menial tasks to do,” what we Americans would call a gopher – someone to go-for whatever the boss wants. Despite my natural tendencies and preference for sloth, I have come to adore the divine Beth Good to the outlandish degree of giving wistful consideration toward enlisting as her ever-faithful dogsbody.

Author Bio –

Born and raised in Essex, England, Beth Good was whisked away to an island tax haven at the age of eleven to attend an exclusive public school and rub shoulders with the rich and famous. Sadly, she never became rich or famous herself, so had to settle for infamy as a writer of dubious novels. She writes under several different names, mainly to avoid confusing her readers – and herself! As Beth Good, she writes romantic comedy and feel-good fiction. She also writes thrillers as Jane Holland, historicals as Victoria Lamb and Elizabeth Moss, and feel-good fiction as Hannah Coates.

Beth currently lives in the West Country where she spends a great deal of time thinking romantic thoughts while staring out of her window at sheep. (These two actions are unrelated.)

You can find her most days on Twitter as @BethGoodWriter where she occasionally indulges in pointless banter about chocolate making and the Great British Bake Off. Due to a basic inability to say no, she has too many children and not enough money, which means she needs as many readers as she can get.

Social Media Links –

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/BethGoodAuthor

TWITTER: https://twitter.com/BethGoodWriter