Author Archives: youngv2015

Final Approach, Home from Scotland, September 23, 2025

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Final Approach into Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport, September 23, 2025

The pilot’s voice comes over the PA, asking passengers and flight attendants to prepare for the final approach.

If I’m reading, I close my book. If I’m resting, I open my eyes. If the window shade is down, I raise it. From the moment of the pilot’s announcement until the wheels touch the runway, and the force from the plane’s thrust-reverse system pushes me back against my seat, I will keep watch out the window.

Out the window I’m met by thick, irregular shaped clouds spattered through the Midwestern skies over Minneapolis-St. Paul and its suburbs. I have a window seat. I always try to have a window seat. Considering I don’t like to be boxed into a space, this is unusual for me. But instead of feeling claustrophobic and trapped, I’m comforted by the world outside the window, even if I’m thousands of feet above the earth. The pilot asks passengers to fasten their seatbelts, stow their trays, and return their seats to an upright position. Flight attendants make their final walks up and down the aisle.

My love of the window seat on a plane began as a young child. I would fly with my father, who had a private pilot’s license. Over the years he owned a series of mostly single-engine airplanes, so every seat had a window. If my mother wasn’t on the plane, and she rarely was, I rode in the front passenger seat. Views surrounded me. Flying north and south across Wisconsin, I was mesmerized by patchworked parcels of land seamed together with ribbons of road. Rivers meandered and lakes nestled in the landscape. Houses and buildings, cows and horses looked like toys left behind by children. And I liked to imagine the cars and trucks had been wound by hand and set upon the roads. Every time I flew with my father and he landed the plane and shut it down, he’d declare, “Cheated death again.”

Our approach into Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport is a series of wide turns creating the illusion we are flying in slow motion as we descend through billowy clouds. The plane banks, then banks again. Each turn provides a view of the earth below then a view of the clouds above. I’m transcended. I’m fearless. I don’t worry about the plane falling from the sky. I’m not watching out the window in a hope to divert disaster. I’m watching out the window because I’m enchanted by the most beautiful final approach I think I’ve ever experienced. I’m not worried about the landing. If something goes wrong, I’ve had a seat to a stunning view after a lovely trip to Scotland.

As a child, I knew planes crashed, but I never worried when my father flew his small plane. I took my first commercial flight when I was seventeen, a trip to Europe with other students and chaperones. I don’t remember being afraid. But by the time I was in my early twenties, commercial flying scared me. There was a spate of commercial crashes from the 1970s through the 1980s. And there was the echo of my father’s words, “Cheated death again.”

On one of the plane’s banks, I see a shimmering steel-colored river reflecting the sun and clouds. I wonder if it’s the Mississippi or the Minnesota. In a final crescendo, the sky has become a cobalt blue, and shades of industrial gray dance across the land and river.

In my 20s, 30s, and 40s, I avoided commercial flying. I rarely traveled to see my family because it meant getting on a jet. When I did agree to fly to see my parents or siblings, dread stalked me. In the weeks and days before my flight, I’d wake in the middle of the night certain my plane would crash. My dread inflated like a balloon until I thought it would burst. Then my departure date would arrive, and I’d head to the airport. Caught up in waves of people coming and going, I, too, would become excited to be going somewhere. My fear would dissipate. I’d board the plane, buckle my seatbelt, open a book, and read. When the plane started moving, I’d look out the window. (Most crashes happen on takeoffs and landings.) I’d watch the plane roll down the runway, lift off the ground, and clear its controlled airspace. Then, and only then, I’d return to my book.

As we near the runway cleared for our landing, I know the plane is traveling at speeds faster than I ever drive, but that’s not how it feels from the air. I’m suspended in time and space. I realize I’m not in a hurry to land. I’d like to ask the pilot to go around one more time. I have just returned from Scotland, home to some of the world’s most beautiful scenery. But the views on this final approach rival the scenes of Scotland, not because they are similar, but because they are so different. I’m home. In my Midwestern part of the United States. A land with its own innate and man-made beauty.

By the time I was in my late twenties, my fear of flying spread to small planes like my father flew. After I married and had children, my father would fly his small plane from Arizona to Wisconsin every summer. He’d attend the Experimental Aircraft Association show in Oshkosh, visit friends in southern Wisconsin, then fly into the Bong Airport in Superior. He’d call me from the air, and I’d load my children and dogs into the car and meet him at the airport. I’d help him tie down his plane, a ritual we completed many times when I was young. At some point during his visit, he’d take my boys and me for a flight. At first, I was okay with this, but as each year passed, my fear of flying in a small plane surpassed my fear of flying in commercial jets. I knew the statistics. Small private planes were more dangerous. At least, with my children in the plane, he didn’t say, “Cheated death again.”

The flight attendants have all taken their seats. Our Delta Flight 1127 levels, ready for landing. I don’t experience a moment of panic.

Last February Delta Flight 4819 landed upside down on a runway in Toronto. No one died. My mother, who knew I’d be flying Delta to Scotland, lost no time in phoning to tell me about the inverted landing. “It’s comforting to know, “I replied, “that I’ve chosen an airline whose pilots know how to land a jet upside down.”

Up until our final descent, the jet engines droned quietly. But now just before we land, pilots adjust flaps and slats to increase drag in order to slow the plane even more. A loud rumble fills my ears. The wheels of the plane hit the ground and the spell is broken. The pilots reverse thrust and a deafening roar assaults my ears, and I’m pressed into the back of my seat.

One year, before my father came to visit, I asked my sister to tell him that I didn’t want to go up in his plane anymore. That I couldn’t handle the weeks of anxiety before the flight. My father came and went and never mentioned a plane ride. Later, on another one of his visits, he told me about a friend of his who had flown for years for work and for recreation. “Gary,” Dad said. “can no longer get on a plane, private or commercial.” I stood at my kitchen sink washing dishes, my back to my father. I didn’t turn around. He continued, “Gary said he’s flown for decades without an accident, and he feels he’s used up all his luck.” (Gary felt his time for “cheating death once again” had run out.) I said nothing, and my father said nothing else. I believe he told me this story because he knew I had a fear of flying, and this was his way of saying he understood. One of his occasional moments of empathy.

I still won’t get on a private plane, but I don’t worry about flying commercially, or take offs, or landings any more. My father’s refrain, “cheated death again,” doesn’t play through my head. Perhaps because I’m of a certain age, I’ve come to realize it’s a waste of energy, worrying about something I can’t control. Sometimes the only way to get somewhere is to fly. My mother can’t fly anymore but there are places she’d like to go. Her world has shrunk. Perhaps one day, I won’t be able to fly anymore either, so I’ll go while I can. And instead, I’ll fret about getting stranded in an airport or worse, getting stranded in a plane on the tarmac.

We taxi up to the gate, our plane is an hour late getting in (some mechanical thing in Boston), but I still have plenty of time to catch the airport shuttle for home.

Book Review: Ellie’s Pursuit of the Mighty Fitz by Mckenzie Lee Williams and illustrated by Alayna Maria

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Published in hard cover, Williams’s book is durable and easy to wipe clean, making it perfect for young hands.

What is this book about?

It’s the day before spring break at Great Lakes Grade School. All of Ellie’s fifth grade classmates have travel plans. Her best friend, Mike, is going to London with his family to see Big Ben. Ellie worries her friends will return after spring break with wonderful objects and stories for their last fifth-grade show-and-tell, and she will have nothing to share because she isn’t going anywhere. She hopes her father will surprise her with a last-minute trip. But, Ellie’s only surprise is that Grandma Gigi is spending the week because her father has to go on a business trip.

While riding home after school with her father, Ellie hears Gordon Lightfoot’s song “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” for the first time. After listening to the song, she has lots of questions about the Fitzgerald. Later she talks to Grandma Gigi about the Fitz and her recently deceased Grandpa Loren, who also sailed the Great Lakes, and even knew some of the sailors from the Fitzgerald. Ellie and her grandma decide to drive from Superior, Wisconsin, to the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum on Whitefish Point in Michigan. They want to see the bronze bell from the Fitzgerald and to learn more about the ship and its sinking. Perhaps Ellie will have something special to share at her last show-and-tell as a fifth grader.

What makes this book special?

Delightfully written by Mckenzie Lee Williams and beautifully illustrated by Alayna Maria, this chapter book will appeal to children ages eight to twelve years old. I really enjoyed this story, and I read it in one evening. Ellie, the main character and narrator, captured my heart. She is enthusiastic, adventurous, curious, and kind. She loves learning and writing in her journal, and if you’re a writer, you’ve got to love a journal-toting character. Told with tenderness and gentle humor, this chapter book explores themes of disappointment, grief, remembrance, and resilience. Young readers will enjoy taking a road trip with Ellie and Grandma Gigi. Along the way they will learn about the Edmund Fitzgerald, the Great Lakes, and the enduring power of love. Now, I want to visit the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum on Whitefish Point.

A special note about the author, Mckenzie Lee Williams . . .

Mckenzie Lee Williams died in a motorcycle accident in June 2024. She was twenty-three years old, a recent college graduate, and a writer. She was inspired to write Ellie’s Pursuit of the Mighty Fitzgerald when she worked at a bookstore. Customers would inquire about books regarding the Fitz for children, but there was little available. So, Williams decided to write a chapter book. After her death, her mother discovered Williams’s draft of Ellie’s Pursuit. With love and dedication, Williams’s family and friends edited and illustrated her manuscript. Like the bronze bell from the Fitzgerald, Williams’s book is a symbol of spirit, dedication, and love.

I never met Williams but she and I both had work published in the 2024 Nemadji Review at the University of Wisconsin-Superior. I was saddened when I heard about her death. Ellie’s Pursuit of the Mighty Fitzgerald is a lasting tribute to Williams and her talents as a writer.

[Ellie’s Pursuit of the Might Fitz, Mckenzie’s Mommy Publishing, October 2025, is available through Amazon and the National Museum of the Great Lakes.]

Book Reviews from My To-Be-Read Pile

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Haunted by my staggering To-Be-Read pile of books, I’ve been on a bigger reading kick than usual, so I’ve read lots of enjoyable books lately. As I finished each of the books that I review here, I would tell myself I should write a book review. But as soon as I had free time, I hooked up with another book from my T-B-R pile. So, I’m going to write some quick reviews of my recent reads.

Close to a Flame by Colleen Alles (Cornerstone Press, 2025) Colleen Alles is a Michigan writer, which is fitting since I read many of her short stories while visiting my mother in Petoskey, Michigan. Alles’s stories capture the ordinary lives of women as they move through life’s ups and downs. Her stories are often a nod to the importance, strength, and lasting endurance of friendships between women. Six of the stories in her collection follow two characters named Miriam and Jamie. I love how these M & J stories are interspersed throughout the collection. We meet M & J in Alles’s first story “Restoring Notre-Dame” while they are in college. They remain life-long friends. We are treated to their stories as they date, marry, have children, and move into middle age. In Alles’s final story “Christ at Heart’s Door,” Jamie has gone to stay with her aging mother for a week. Miriam is back home, but she’s only a phone call away. Alles’s six M & J stories create a wonderful story arc of their own. Besides the M & J stories, my other favorites were “Loggerhead,” “Cusping,” “Whisper Moment,” and “In Tandem.” These stories connected with me, three of them for their subtle humor and one for its undercurrent of horror. Even though I finished her book over a month ago, many of Alles’s stories have followed me around, especially “Christ at Heart’s Door.” Alles’s book was a well-deserved NIEA Finalist (National Indie Excellence Awards).

The Gales of November: The Untold Story of the Edmund Fitzgeraldby John U. Bacon (Liveright Publishing Corporation, a division of W. W. Norton & Company, Inc. 2025) John U. Bacon’s nonfiction book The Gales of November, released in 2025, coincides with the fiftieth anniversary of the sinking of the Edmund Fitzgerald. Even though I was sixteen when the Fitzgerald sank, and I waited with thousands of people hoping there would be survivors, I’d never read a book about the Fitzgerald‘s sinking until I read The Gales of November. When it sank, I was living in Milwaukee, where the Northwestern Mutual Life Insurance Company, owners of the Fitz, is still located. Two years later I moved near Superior where the Fitz had taken on her last load of taconite a day before her sinking. In the early 1980s, I worked at President’s bar, mentioned several times in Bacon’s book. Over the years, I heard many stories about what might have happened to the Fitz. Some from my great-uncle, others from sailors who sailed the Great Lakes, including a couple of sailors who were on the Arthur M. Anderson the night the Fitz sunk. There were no survivors or captain’s logs to corroborate any of the stories. And while I’d read some articles about the Fitz over the years, I’d never read a book about its sinking. Then I read Cait Z’s blog review about Bacon’s book that stated,“This is excellent! What it isn’t is an exploitation of a disaster.” (Click on the quote to read Cait Z’s review.) I went to my local bookstore that day and bought the book. The Gales of November is everything Cait Z. said it would be. Readers learn about the Great Lakes, shipbuilding, the taconite industry, the life of sailors, the weather, a few other shipwrecks, and the families left behind after the Fitz‘s sinking. Bacon’s book is written with care and respect. I waited fifty years to read a book about the Edmund Fitzgerald and I’m glad I did. First, after fifty years and some underwater exploration, experts have more information about the Fitz‘s sinking. Second, I learned so much about the Great Lakes and the shipping industry. Finally, Bacon’s book — well written and well researched — is excellent. And everyone I’ve talked to who has read it agrees.

Montana Matrimonial News by Candace Simar (North Star Press, 2025) Candace Simar’s most recent novel is a group of connected stories about men and women who have come to live in the Dakota Territory as homesteaders in the 1880s. Simar paints a realistic picture of the harsh and lonely lives homesteaders lead as they farm their homesteads for the five years needed to claim the land as their own. Men and sometimes women advertise in the Montana Matrimonial News for a bride or groom. The novel starts with Digger and his brother George, who have been homesteading their claims for four long years, and they wonder if they have the fortitude to make it through their fifth year. They are desperately lonely and wish to marry. In other chapters we meet widowers and widows, some with children. We meet an unwed mother. We meet a pair of sisters who are homesteading separate claims. We meet two Civil War veterans who drink to quash the horrors of the war. And we meet Dr. Gamla, the thread who ties the stories together. She has a way of knowing who needs her medical services without being told. She offers cures for both the physically and emotionally wounded with her well-known catch phrase, “My cures work if you can stand them.” Candace Simar has written a richly detailed historical novel with vibrant, well-developed, distinctive characters who nearly walk off the pages. Her descriptive writing talents took me back to the 1880s in the Dakota Territory to the days of sod houses, prairie thunderstorms and blizzards, and waving oceans of prairie grasses. Her stories came to life in my head. [Note: I read most of Simar’s novel after receiving my COVID shot, which always makes me feel awful for a couple of days. Having her book to read was a soothing balm, making me forget about my discomfort.]

Beginnings: The Homeward Journey of Donovan Manypenny by Thomas D. Peacock (Holy Cow! Press, 2018) Donovan Manypenny, an Ojibwe from Red Cliff, Wisconsin, has had some tragedy and some joy in his life. He’s had some bad luck and some good luck. Left an orphan by his mother’s death, his grandparents have taken him into their home. They are kind and loving, but when Donovan is ten, first his grandmother dies, then his grandfather. Bad luck and good luck continue to follow Donovan for a brief time, with good luck and joy winning out. But Donovan ends up living over a thousand miles away from his Ojibwe people of Red Cliff. With the first sentence of his story, he tells us, “For over forty years I forgot I was native, Anishinaabe Ojibwe . . . .” In Massachusetts he has been content with his life as a teacher, happy in his marriage, and proud of his daughter. Then his daughter pleads with him to attend a Native American event combining Native storytelling and crafts. Something awakens in Donovan and he begins his homeward journey, taking his time along the way to visit places important to his Ojibwe people. Beautifully written, Thomas Peacock’s slender novel is a quiet, contemplative meditation on the meaning of belonging and family and of coming home to the place you were eventually meant to be.

Book Review: Blooming Hollyhocks: Tales of Joy During Hard Times by Naomi Helen Yaeger

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Naomi Helen Yaeger, in a delightfully engaging biography, tells the story of her mother Janette Yaeger (née Minehart) who grew up in Avoca, Minnesota. Yaeger spent hours interviewing her mother before her mother died. In her book, Yaeger lovingly recounts the stories of Janette and her siblings, parents, and extended family. Most of the book concentrates on Janette’s life from toddlerhood through young adulthood. However, toward the end of the book, Yaeger summarizes the key highlights of Janette’s and her family’s lives as they moved through adulthood. I’m glad Yaeger did this because after reading about the early lives of Janette and her family, I wanted to know what happened to them as adults.

Yaeger’s book invites readers into a bygone era. We learn about the history, culture, and lives of ordinary people who lived through the depression, WWII, and the Korean War. We read about their daily joys, disappointments, and sorrows. Usually, the history we are taught in school focuses on major events and well-known people. But I find the daily lives of people and how they lived while major historical events happened around them fascinating. And I learned a few things that I didn’t know before reading the book.

As I read Blooming Hollyhocks, I laughed and I cried. I felt connected to my own relatives who grew up in the same era as Yaeger’s. And I remembered the stories they had told me, often similar to the stories Janette Yaeger shared with her daughter Naomi. As I finished Yaeger’s book and closed it for the last time, I was already missing the Mineharts, their relatives, and their friends.

[When I attended Naomi Yaeger’s book launch, someone mentioned that Yaeger’s book would make a great present. After finishing her book, I wholeheartedly agree. If you know someone who lived through this time or grew up listening to the stories of relatives who lived through this time, I believe they would enjoy Yaeger’s book as much as I did.]

I Have a New Bookstore to Love: Dockside Books in Charlevoix, Michigan

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Dockside Books on Bridge Street in Charlevoix, Michigan

There’s a new bookstore in Charlevoix, Michigan, called Dockside Books. It’s appropriately named because water abounds in Charlevoix. From the bookstore if you look to the west, you see Lake Michigan and the Round Lake Channel, which leads into Round Lake. If you look to the east, you see Round Lake, which leads into Lake Charlevoix.

The friendly clerk who helped me pick out a book

Dockside is a charming bookstore. Depending on the light, the color painted on the walls sometimes looks sea green or stormy blue. Changeable like Lake Michigan. A rowboat standing on end serves as a bookshelf. In addition to a wonderful selection of books in all genres, customers can shop for book bags, stationery, bookmarks, and journals. There is a nice sitting area where you can try out a book before you buy it.

I wanted to buy a book to be supportive of the new store. But I wasn’t sure what to get because I’d recently bought other books on my wish list. So, I asked the clerk what her favorite genre was and she said she likes them all (a diplomat!), but she added she loves historical fiction. I asked, “Do you have a new historical fiction book you could recommend?” She did. 33 Place Brugmann by Alice Austen. The story, set in Brussels in a small apartment building, begins with the Nazi occupation of Belgium. I bought the book because I like historical fiction and because the clerk enthusiastically recommended it. Also, I find that reading about World War II, Nazis, and fascism, which I’ve been doing a lot lately, is somehow less scary than reading today’s news. Sometimes, however, the parallels between the past and the present are frightening. I haven’t read the book yet, but if I like it, I promise I’ll post a book review.

I didn’t have long to visit the bookstore because I had two dogs in my car waiting for their promised walk. So I’m looking forward to spending more time in Dockside when I return to Michigan this winter. I also need to read 33 Place Brugmann before I return to the store because I promised the clerk I’d tell her what I thought of the book.

The locals like to say if you keep a big enough boat on Lake Charlevoix, you can go anywhere in the world you want. Sail into Lake Michigan, navigate through a few more Great Lakes and some rivers, and voilà you will sail into the Atlantic Ocean. And from there the world awaits.

Or you can do what I did and visit Dockside Books, buy a book, and go anywhere in the world and anywhere in time without getting seasick. Soon I’ll be traveling back in time to Brussels as World War II begins and the lives of ordinary people are upended because of Hitler.

To see interior pictures of Dockside, scroll through the slideshow below.

Review of Two Books: Say Nothing: A True Story of Murder and Memory in Northern Ireland by Patrick Radden Keefe (2018) & McGarr and the Method of Descartes by Bartholomew Gill (1984)

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Say Nothing by Patrick Radden Keefe is nonfiction. Published in 2018, it tells the story of The Troubles in Northern Ireland between Catholics and Protestants during the 1970s, and its aftermath during the 1980s through the early 2000s.

McGarr and the Method of Descartes by Bartholomew Gill is fiction. Published in 1984, it tells the story of Detective Chief Inspector Peter McGarr who strives to prevent the assassination of a Loyalist Protestant he loathes in order to prevent yet another cycle of violence between Catholics and Irish Protestants.

Both books tell stories involving the Irish Republican Army, the British Army, the Loyalist and Catholic paramilitaries, the informants, and the civilians who are swept up into tragic violence. In both books people are blown up, shot, executed, arrested, imprisoned, tortured, beaten, and burned out of their homes. Gill’s book is fiction, but it mirrors much of what happens in the real world of Keefe’s book.

I started out reading both books at the same time, sometimes reading a bit of each in a day, and other times reading them every other day. I’ve done this before with books. However, I stopped toggling back and forth after I repeated an episode from Gill’s fictional story to someone as if it had been a real episode from Keefe’s book. But in a sense it was real because the episode in Gill’s book was a fictionalized account of numerous real events that Keefe reported about in his book. Switch names and change some of the fictionalized details, and Gill’s event would be real. Gill captures the realism of the events and the emotional trauma that Keefe so deftly writes about in his nonfiction book.

Say Nothing by Patrick Radden Keefe

Keefe’s book starts with the kidnapping and murder of thirty-eight-year-old Jean McConville, a widow and mother of ten children ranging in age from twenty to six. The IRA accuses McConville of being an informant for the British Army in Belfast, Northern Ireland. Without a trial of any sort, she was abducted from her home in Belfast, driven across the border into the Republic of Ireland, shot to death, then buried in an unmarked, secret grave.

Keefe’s book is highly engaging, well organized, and clearly written — important because he covers a slice of history that is complex and involves dozens of key people. He uses McConville’s abduction as a starting point to tell the story of The Troubles in Northern Ireland, but Say Nothing covers more than McConville’s disappearance and murder. As readers learn about The Troubles during the 1970s, Keefe leaves them with an understanding of the history behind The Troubles, the trauma caused by the conflict, and the negotiated peace that somehow feels tenuous.

I read Say Nothing on the advice of a nonfiction writer, Rachel Hanel, whom I admire. She recently reread and recommended it in her newsletter, stating, “It’s still my favorite nonfiction book of the past 10 years.” Keefe’s book was made into a limited TV series that can be watched on HULU. I have not watched it, but other people have told me it’s very good.

McGarr and the Method of Descartes by Bartholomew Gill

During the investigation of a murder, DCI Peter McGarr and his investigators uncover a plot to assassinate Ian Paisley, a bigoted, loud-spoken, but charismatic Protestant minister beloved by many Irish Protestants. (By the way, Ian Paisley was a real person who was all these things.) McGarr abhors Paisley, but he also detests the IRA, the British Army, all paramilitary groups, and anyone else who conspires to use violence in order to push Ireland and Northern Ireland back into the nightmarish times of The Troubles during the 1970s. Racing against the clock and up against a group of formidable foes steeped in a long tradition of deception and intimidation, McGarr and his team work to prevent Paisley’s assassination.

I read McGarr and the Method of Descartes because I liked the first five books in Gill’s series, which he published from the late 1970s through the early 2000s. I’m intrigued to see how Gill’s characters and stories will evolve in the series. I want to learn more about Noreen, and McGarr’s past, and if women are going to become an integral part of the police force. In Gill’s sixth book McGarr’s wife, Noreen, has a minuscule role, unlike the fifth book where she has her own story arc. But after a debate with McGarr and a sleepless night, she delivers the best lines in the book to her husband before he leaves their house to try and stop Paisley’s assassination.

The female computer expert, Ruth Bresnahan, is back in her biggest role since she joined the squad. The men on McGarr’s team know she is smart and rarely wrong, and they are intimidated by her. But McGarr isn’t bothered by her smarts. He respects her intelligence, doggedness, and energy. He believes in a way she is “worth two of any of the men on the staff.” He has her read into the case and takes time to mentor her. She plays a key part in helping McGarr and the team as they attempt to save Paisley’s life.

Bartholomew Gill’s sixth Peter McGarr book is excellent. It is his darkest story yet. But The Troubles in Northern Ireland was a dark time. I’m glad I read most of Keefe’s nonfiction book along with Gill’s novel. The talents of each writer made me appreciate the other’s book. Reading Keefe’s book gave me a great appreciation for the world Gill developed while fictionalizing actual events in Ireland that were barely dry behind the ears. On the flip side, Gill’s book gave me a great appreciation for Keefe’s ability to capture the human emotion and the tragic toll The Troubles wreaked upon generations of Irish people, both Protestant and Catholic.

A point both books make . . .

Colonialism and imperialism inflict a lasting impact on people who have been subjected to outsiders invading their lands and stripping their rights. The trauma of the oppressed and the entitlement of the oppressors are passed down from generation to generation.

On one side, children of the conquered sit at the knees of their parents and grandparents and learn about the atrocities their people have endured and the acts of heroic resistance they have performed.

On the other side, children of the conquerors sit at the knees of their parents and grandparents and learn about their superiority over other people and their imperial destiny.

Conditions become untenable, things fall apart. Childhoods vanish. Neighborhoods sunder. People die.

Anne of Green Gables, the Play

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Playbill from Anne of Green Gables adapted for the stage by Peter DeLaurier

On Sunday I took my fourteen-year-old grandchild to see a play based on the children’s novel Anne of Green Gables by L. M. Montgomery.

Montgomery’s novel about a determined, outspoken, red-headed orphan is one of my favorites. I’ve read it twice.

I went to see the play for two reasons: first, to meet up with my old fictional friend Anne Shirley of Avonlea, Prince Edward Island, and, second to introduce my grandchild to Anne’s story. Judging by the large crowd of people at the play, who ranged from senior citizens to young children, Anne Shirley is still loved by old friends and still being introduced to new friends.

Montgomery wrote Anne of Green Gables in 1905. At first her book was rejected by publishers. Montgomery set her novel aside for a while, but in 1907 she sent it to L.C. Page in Boston. It was accepted and published in 1908. Within five months she sold over 19,000 copies, and it was reprinted numerous times in its first year. Since its publication over fifty million copies have been sold, and it has been translated into over thirty-six languages.

What makes the novel so popular and timeless? Most definitely, it’s the main character, Anne Shirley, who wins our hearts. Set in the late 1800s, we meet Anne when she is eleven years old. She is an orphan who has lived in both foster homes and the orphanage. Her life changes when Marilla Cuthbert and her brother Matthew Cuthbert decide they need someone to help the aging Matthew with his farm chores. Marilla writes to the orphanage to request a boy be sent to them, but there is a mix up, and Anne is sent instead.

Anne has been an orphan since she was a baby. She longs for a family and a home to call her own. She has red hair and freckles, and she believes this makes her ugly. She is outspoken, talkative, and a daydreamer. In a time when girls were to be ladylike and sweet, her candid manner is labeled impertinent and disgraceful. At first Marilla is adamant that Anne should be returned to the orphanage, but Matthew doesn’t agree. Anne’s spirit touches him, and he convinces Marilla to give Anne a chance.

Why have readers for over a hundred years loved Anne of Green Gables? Because Anne wants what we all want — a home, a family, and to be loved for who she is. She doesn’t want people to make fun of her red hair and freckles. She doesn’t want people to silence her outgoing personality or tell her daydreaming is frivolous. We cheer for Anne. She is our hero, not because she is always good or perfect, but because she is so human. When she makes mistakes, she learns from them while remaining true to herself. Anne’s willingness to be true to who she is as she grows up, changes the people around her, and they become more accepting and open minded.

Over a hundred years after its publication, Montgomery’s story still invites readers to be compassionate and accepting of people’s differences. Furthermore, without moralizing, her novel delivers this message with humor; tenderness; and richly drawn characters, such as the unforgettable, irrepressible Anne Shirley.

The play I saw on Sunday was wonderful. The actor who played Anne Shirley was outstanding. She captured the essence of Anne and brought her to life on stage. The supporting cast were also excellent; after all, there are no small parts. The play was creatively staged on a well-designed set, and the costumes were charming. (I found myself wishing I could wear some of them!) The play remained true to Montgomery’s story, and I loved being able to say to myself over and over, “Yes, I remember that from the book!”

Best of all, my fourteen-year-old grandchild loved the play. Teenage years can be difficult. Young people can be filled with self-doubt and feel as though everyone is judging them as they work to discover who they are and what they want out of life. The characters in Anne of Green Gables remind us that acceptance, kindness, and love are timeless and important for both the young and old. This message feels even more important today. In a world where some people want to divide us, we need to remember we are more alike than different. To forget this is to put our humanity at risk.

My Short Story Collection Has a Title: Silent Negotiations

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My story collection has a title! I’ll debut the cover when that is done.

In February 2027, the University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point will publish my collection of short stories through Cornerstone Press, their university press. I’m excited, and nervous, and grateful. This is my first book, and like a first-time parent, I’m not sure what to expect, so I gather information. I talk to other writers who have published books. I attend book launches and author talks. I read blogs and articles and attend seminars about how to nurture a book in the world.

When Cornerstone accepted my manuscript, my publication date was more than two years away. But now it’s about fifteen months away, and if there is one thing I know about time — it’s how quickly it flies. I need to promote my book, and for that it needs a title.

When I submitted my collection in November 2024, it was called Fishing Around in the Dog Days of Summer, after one of the stories in the book. I chose the title for a couple of reasons. First, I really like its eponymous story about two young sisters with a tenuous relationship who go crayfishing on a hot, humid August day. Second, all the characters in my short story collection are fishing around for something they want. They each dip a line in the murky waters of their lives during their own dog days, hoping to catch something they long for.

But as much as I liked my original title, I began to feel it was too long and would be hard for people to remember. And I worried if the cover depicted a fishing scene along with the title, potential readers might think all my stories were about fishing.

I looked at my table of contents and considered other story titles. “Silent Negotiations” jumped out at me. It’s short and easy to remember, and it’s another story I really like. In 2020, it won second place in the Hal Prize Fiction Contest. (So, I feel the title has good mojo.) In the story a couple who have been married over forty years renegotiate the parameters of their marriage during a disagreement. Each spouse speaks their mind, but only to a point. The rest of their negotiations are silent, yet significant. The characters in my other stories are like the old married couple in “Silent Negotiations.” They all want something. They all talk to each other, but they leave things unsaid. And what is left unsaid, changes who they are with one another and themselves.

After I decided to change my title to Silent Negotiations, I asked my writing friends and readers what they thought. They had all read my stories several times, so I knew they would be good judges as to whether or not the new title would be a good fit for the collection. They all loved Silent Negotiations.

Last weekend I attended the Wisconsin Writers Association Conference in Stevens Point. The Cornerstone Press editors were there too. I talked to Dr. Ross Tangedal about using Silent Negotiations as my title. He liked it too, and so did his student editors.

My book has an official title!

Now, I’m excited to see some cover designs. Before I know it, Silent Negotiations will be out in the world.

I’m hoping to use this picture for my author photo. Photo credit: Max Youngquist

Book Review: McGarr and the P. M. of Belgrave Square by Bartholomew Gill (First Published in the United States by Viking Press, 1983)

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I’m back with another update on my quest to read all of the Peter McGarr mysteries by Bartholomew Gill. I just finished McGarr and the P.M. of Belgrave Square, Bartholomew Gill’s fifth Peter McGarr mystery. And I know I said this about Bartholomew’s fourth book, but his fifth book is now my favorite of the series.

What is this book about?

A dead body lies in a water-filled ditch for most of a day. It’s inconceivable to DCI Peter McGarr that the woman in the house overlooking the ditch failed to noticed the dead man. Furthermore, McGarr reckons she must have witnessed the murder.

The dead man is William Craig, an antiques dealer and business man, who until that morning had lived with his wife in the house with the view of the watery ditch.

McGarr quickly gathers a list of suspects: the wife, the son, the business partner, the gardener, the maid, a member of the Irish Republican Army, a former Nazi collaborator. Given the method of the murder, it appears personal. Curiously, considering the many valuable antiques in Craig’s shop, the only item is missing is a valuable painting.

The P.M. of Belgrave Square is a dog (not the Prime Minister), who has retired from the police force. P.M. lives next door to McGarr, and of course they’re friends. In many ways the dog is a canine version of McGarr.

Thoughts about story and character development in Gill’s mystery series . . .

For four books, I wanted to know more about DCI McGarr’s wife, Noreen. I wanted her to do more than cook a few meals for McGarr, drive him around occasionally, and look stunning in clothes that showcase her ginger-colored hair and green eyes. I wonder if Gill ever received fan mail from readers asking for more Noreen because in this book, she has her own story arc, something missing in the first four books. In the earlier books, Noreen was nice enough, but now she’s interesting.

There are still no female detectives. And the female temp with the competent computer skills, who I really liked, is absent from this book, but I hope she still works for the department. There is only one scene at the police station in this book, so it makes sense we don’t see her.

In Gill’s first five books, we learn a lot about the murder suspects and what makes them tick, but not so much about the detectives who investigate them. It’s nice to have interesting suspects with convoluted psyches and complicated motives. But I’ve been raised on police detective stories that also focus on the investigators and what makes them tick. We get a bit more of that in McGarr and the P.M. of Belgrave Square, as Gill gives us some insight into McGarr’s life through Noreen’s perspective on their marriage.

Turns out Noreen is concerned about Peter’s drinking and his smoking. Throughout the first four books, she seemed oblivious to his bad habits. There are cracks in McGarr’s facade, hints that something from his past has left scars, and Noreen is terrified about his willingness to put himself in harm’s way. His position as a DCI means he should be off the streets and at a desk, but Peter likes to be in the thick of an investigation. She believes he has a death wish. I wonder if she will make it as a cop’s wife.

The Irish Republican Army is back. Insinuations of IRA involvement always complicate McGarr’s murder investigations. He seeks justice for the victim or victims at hand, but Special Branch, or some other investigative entity, often wants to bury IRA involvement, either because they simply don’t want to deal with it or because they are deep into an investigation and don’t want their cover blown. McGarr doesn’t give a farthing for either reason — he solves the case in front of him. If that means rattling the IRA or interfering in an ongoing Special Branch investigation, so be it.

Gill’s Peter McGarr mysteries are dark. Set mostly in Ireland, I can’t imagine they would ever be endorsed by an Irish tourism board. McGarr’s Ireland is a land of dismal weather and stormy seas with only brief bouts of sunshine. McGarr’s Dublin is a city of coal dust, simmering class resentments, and political intrigue.

I wonder if I weren’t interested in seeing how Gill develops his characters over the series, if I would still be reading these books. But I think the answer is yes. The novels have just the right amount of darkness. The writing is good. I like the dialogue. The stories are interesting. The books are quick reads. And the pocket book size feels so comfortable in my hands. After I finished this book, I ordered Gill’s next three mysteries from Thrift Books. So, like Noreen is still sticking with Peter McGarr, I’m still sticking with Bartholomew Gill.

[To read my reviews of the first four Peter McGarr mysteries, click here for books one and two and here for book three and here for book four.]

Something Published: “A Journey with Monarchs”

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Tales of Migration 2025

My essay “A Journey with Monarchs” was recently published in Tales of Migration by Duluth Publishing Project. Professor David Beard (University of Minnesota-Duluth) and a group of his students spearheaded this project, from the call for submissions to the finished project. This is the second time I’ve had an essay selected for one of their anthology projects. I appreciate the hard work and dedication of Beard and his students, who all strive to make the experience memorable for their writers. In the spring after the selections are made, they always host a reading, and invite the writers to read their pieces. It’s a wonderful time. I enjoy meeting the other contributing writers, and listening to them read their work.

The inspiration for my essay

My essay was inspired by a monarch I saw in Petoskey, Michigan, on a chilly October day. The monarch clutched a pink cosmos flower, and it didn’t move when I approached it. Its behavior so intrigued me that I began to research monarchs and their migration habits. My essay is a creative nonfiction piece of nature writing. For the nonfiction part, I carefully researched all of the information by reading books and online articles from reliable sources. For the creative part, I used some literary devices that I hoped would make the essay enjoyable for people to read while learning about the wondrous migration of monarchs.

[The Tales of Migration anthology is available on Amazon. For more information, click here.]

I’ll never forget the reading for Tales of Migration because I got lost . . .

After this year’s reading, I struck up a conversation with one of the poets whose work appears in Tales of Migration. I had met her the year before when we both read our pieces from Tales of Travel. We left the meeting together and kept visiting. We had parked in different lots, but I kept walking with her because I enjoyed her company and conversation. I figured I would just walk around the outside of the buildings and return to my car. After all, it was a nice sunny evening, the UMD campus wasn’t that big, and I hadn’t gone that far out of my way.

Ha! It didn’t work out as I planned. After I exited the building with the poet, she walked off to her parking lot. I turned the opposite direction and walked off to my car. But I couldn’t find the lot in which I had parked. I walked around buildings. I set the GPS on my phone to walk mode, but it was no help. It was around 7:00 on a weeknight and the campus was devoid of students.

I walked in circles for almost twenty minutes. If it had been dark, I would have been panicked. But the skies were a bright, beautiful blue and considering what spring can be in Duluth, it was fairly warm. I have such a poor sense of direction to begin with, and faced with a random placement of large buildings connected by a maze of passageways, I began to feel stupid and frustrated. I felt trapped inside a bad episode of The Twilight Zone.

I decided I needed to reenter the doors I had exited from with the poet. I retraced my steps back through the liberal arts building and to the room where I had done my reading. From there I felt I could find the engineering building that I had walked through on my way to the liberal arts building before my reading.

But it wasn’t that easy. I had gotten so turned around and addled that I had a hard time remembering how I had originally come through the buildings, which were connected by long and meandering hallways. And to complicate matters, the floor levels in one building don’t always match up to the floor levels in the next building.

I asked a student if he could give me directions to the engineering building. He shook his head and said, “I don’t know. I’m a liberal arts major.”

“I was a liberal arts major, too,” I said, as if that explained why I was lost. He was not the only person to apologize about not being able to direct me to the engineering building. Perhaps liberal arts majors aren’t hardwired to locate engineering departments. On a large campus, many students may never need to visit certain buildings. I went to a small college, and I had classes in every building on campus.

Finally, someone was able to help me. Once I found my way into the engineering building on the correct level, I recognized where I was and located the right exit. My car was where I had left it. Dusk was descending, and I was relieved. It’s not fun being misplaced.

I had known all along where I was, and yet I had been so lost and turned around at the same time. I thought about the irony. I had just read for Tales of Migration, filled with poems and essays about moving from one place to another, sometimes covering thousands of miles. I thought about migrating people all over the world who would know the names of their new homes, yet still be lost and turned around, arriving in a land they had never been before, whose culture they had never experienced. They would have mazes and passageways to navigate, all of which would play out over years, instead of the thirty minutes in which I had been lost.