Yes, Munchy did his feline duty and drew five winners from the large plastic container that contained many, many entries. The winners of a fine trade paperback copy of Beat the Reaper by Josh Bazell are: Angela C., Jessica L., Lindsay Pasch, Bookfool, and Pearl Berger.
Our winners came from the states of Indiana, Mississippi, New Mexico, Texas and Virginia.
Many thanks to Valerie at Hachette Books for the copies of Beat the Reaper.
Congratulations to our five winners, and thanks to all who entered this contest! At some point in the near future, we’ll be hosting our fourth book giveaway. Bookmark this site!
“It’s hard to say it, I hate to say it, but it’s probably me…” Sting
I suppose it’s just me but I simply could not relate to this story. It may well be me as I’ve read so many positive comments about this author (Anne Rivers Siddons) and also heard good things from friends and fellow readers. The story certainly started off as cute with a prologue involving the main character Lily and the cat Silas, as they drive with Lily’s husband Carl’s ashes out on the road, on a journey.
But before the journey ever begins, we have to revisit Lily’s life as a child on “the wild coast of Maine,” and this is where the story came to a near halt for me. Siddons writes about a privileged world where people hang out and vacation when they’re not in places like Hyannis Port or Martha’s Vineyard or Nantucket. Or Boston or New York City or state. “…wealthy people from Boston and New York had found the colony, and had bought up seaside land… and built huge, rambling houses that cost nearly a million dollars and sent everybody’s taxes skyrocketing. They were not loved.”
Siddons’ writing seems to be more real when she describes nature or places or scenes than people. “We sank down in the velvety moss… It was sun warmed… the warmth was soothing… Sleep came as it does outdoors: the sun hammered down on you, sounds faded out… and then all sound was gone.” I have, of course, no way to judge this type of scene being a west coast resident who has never slept on (on top of or in?) moss – and never slept outdoors in the daytime.
Let me put it another way. I desperately wanted to climb up the hill that constituted this story but I found no toe holds, nor even places for my hands to grab. Reading should not be this difficult, so – in the words of Joni Mitchell – when the hopes got so slim I just resigned.
It may be that Siddons – in her childhood and/or adulthood – has inhabited a world of privilege that is so genteel I simply cannot relate to it. Maybe that’s it, exactly. Or maybe it’s just me. It’s probably me.
Thank you to Hachette Books for the review copy.