Paula McLain’s fictional account of Paris in the glorious 1920s told from Hadley’s viewpoint feels real and authentic. (McLain studied several biographies of Hadley, A Moveable Feast, correspondence between the couple, as well as works by the Hemingways’ friends F. Scott Fitzgerald and Gertrude Stein.) Where Feast is seen through Ernest’s eyes, The Paris Wife tells Hadley’s story – how she loved Ernest, and why she ultimately had to let him go become the great Papa Hemingway.

Hadley met Ernest in Chicago in 1920 when she was 28 and thinking her chance at love had passed her by. Why, by the standards of the day, she was practically an old maid! How surprised she was when this handsome wannabe-writer took an interest in her at her friend’s party. And even more surprised when a letter arrived “Special Delivery” the day after she returned home to St. Louis.

“You on the train and me here and everything emptier now you’re gone. Tell me are you real?”

Wouldn’t you swoon if you read those words in a letter marked “Special Delivery”? I know I would. (Of course, I’d swoon if I received anything handwritten from a fellow – much more romantic than a text or email.)

The book follows the couple as their love burns bright along the Seine, as Ernest struggles to write what’s true on his Corona typewriter, and as Hadley encourages him with every draft and revision. Until Ernest, always looking for the next big thing, moves on, forcing Hadley to let him go.

“I can’t quarrel with you anymore and I can’t see you much either, because it hurts too much. We’ll always be friends – delicate friends, and I’ll love you ’til I die, you know.”

Though the two went on to marry others (Ernest several times), they kept in touch over the years, and it’s obvious from later writings that the love they shared in Paris never went away. Ernest himself said so:

“No one you love is ever truly lost.”

I love the title of this book.  What I love more is whose surrender it is.  The hero is so dark, one has to wonder how he can find the light.  But, of course, he does—its romance.

Andreas Merrick is a big time crime lord.  If you read Regency, you will understand how unusual a hero this is, at least, in historical.  His thought process is fascinating.  Ms. Mallory does a fabulous job in convincing the reader how he little he believes in his deserved happiness.

Enter, our heroine, Phoebe Pace.  Her father has been showing signs of losing his mental facilities over the course of the past few years.  She and her mother have, so far, been able to keep her father’s illness a secret.  (In current day, it’s known as Alzheimer’s.)  Phoebe has single handedly kept the family business above water, but it’s ripe for takeover.  She manages this by posing, somewhat, as a ditz with an over-bright smile and…food—an unorthodox method.

She shows up on Andreas’ doorstep.  But he has several dark secrets of his own.  That’s all I am willing to say.  Suffice to say this book is more unusual than the Historicals I usually read.  But I loved it.  You will not be disappointed…I promise.  —Kathy L Wheeler

Let’s see! Where to start?  Diana Benchley, Lady Cameron, widow, destitute, of course.  After the death of her gambling husband, she times her return from the Continent to London perfectly.  This is a heroine who may have been down, but never out.  She had plans—big plans.  Upon her arrival in Town, she finds her original benefactor has tested fate and succumbed to his death with a broken neck, chasing foxes­—in the rain.  She is struck with another notion, insane, notion.  To blackmail the man she’d once believed her hero.  When she announces her plans in a London ballroom to open a gaming hell, she is destined for destruction.  (Again, page 82; On your e-reader, the last line of Chapter Seven—ingenious).

Clever, clever plot.  Brilliant dialogue and a twist of suspense that will NOT allow one to set down a truly intriguing tale.  There is so much to say that I hesitate, because to give away such a delicious story is flat out ruinous.

Suzanne Enoch’s acumen is intelligent, creative and, in this case, outrageous.  Excellent fun!—Kathy L Wheeler.

In modern parlance–and with apologies to author Lev Raphael and Janeites everywhere who do Regency English much better–I’m reading a mashup of Pride and Prejudice this month and taking a somewhat perverse pleasure in the fact that the Bennet family is not my own. Though like many a Janeite I have always thought Elizabeth and I were kindred spirits–(dark looks, sharp tongue, Daddy’s girl)–in Lev Raphael’s Pride and Prejudice: The Jewess and the Gentile, she and I have even more in common, our “Hebraic” background.

Raphael’s retelling is so ingenious I’m surprised no one had thought of it sooner. (There is, after all, an infinite number of Pride and Prejudice innovations/continuations/reimaginations out there. My favorites till now: Linda Berdoll’s Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife and Darcy and Elizabeth. Both are available on Kindle.) When the Bennets are an Anglo-Jewish family, Darcy’s prejudice regains the fangs that may be lost by readers many generations and a continent removed from the British class system. Mrs. Bennet’s frenetic effort to marry off her daughters has never before seemed so reminiscent of conversations overheard barside at a Great Neck Bar Mitzvah. Mr. Collins is no less insufferable, but his devotion to Lady Catherine and his persnickety determination to follow proper social form become almost endearing when Collins’ first generation conversion to Christianity is its source.

Lev Raphael is a writer I’ve admired for years. He writes across genres. Mysteries, non-fiction, memoir. There are short stories in Dancing on Tisha B’Av that will haunt me always. So it’s especially heartening to feel like he’s having the time of his life romping around Longbourn and Pemberley. I’ve reached the point where I have to ration my reading, and I am not a patient person. That’s how highly I recommend it. Please do give Lizzy my best.

If you read the blurb (this is a technical term) on the back of this book, it mentions several lessons to be learned.  One of which is never to disrobe in front of a gentleman unless at gunpoint.  Intriguing…

Lesson two says something to the effect — if one should run into the titled nobleman on the moors of the countryside who ruined any future prospect of marriage, deny any previous acquaintance.  Charming….

Lesson three recommends should an opportune moment to get back at said nobleman reveal itself?  Make it big and make it stick.  Captivating…

And, lesson four:  that while not all knowledge can be found between the covers of a book, the proper improper book would prove invaluable.  (Okay, it didn’t say that exactly, but I’m sure that’s what Ms. Neville meant).  Perfection… or shall be by the time, you, the reader, finish following Celia Seaton’s education.

As you can see, there are several lessons from which anyone could surely benefit.  A perfect example?  Perhaps, Tarquin Compton (our hero)?  Known and envied for his outrageous attire, he is, shall we say, somewhat pompous.  Not someone Celia could fall in love with—until he is bonked on the head and loses his memory for a time.  Unfortunately for her, timing of said recall  is most inconvenient.  Murphy’s law.

Hmmm… Is “Murphy’s law” a historical term?

Once again, Miranda Neville does not disappoint. Ten thumbs up.  —Kathy L Wheeler.