Generations of Beth Hayes' family grew up on the shores of Sullivan's Island, South Carolina. Their rambling old beach house - Island Gamble - has seen all their tragedies, triumphs and downright disasters. As much as Beth loves the old house, it's really her mother's refuge, not hers. So, when she's asked to housesit for a year while her mother flits off to Paris, she grumbles. A lot. Not only has she just graduated from Boston College, but Beth's got plans to attend the Iowa Writer's Workshop. Now, the family's asking her to put her life on hold to babysit their crumbling house of horrors. True, there are worse places to write than the beach. But, still ...
In Dorothea Benton Frank's Return to Sullivan's Island, Beth Hayes does just that - returns to the island where she's spent countless days roaming the dunes, searching for crabs, and watching the tide roll in from the Gamble's back porch. With the relatives pursuing their various dreams in faraway locales like France and California, Beth has the place to herself. Well, kinda. She has Lola, her miniature Yorkshire - plus all the cranky dead Hamiltons who just can't seem to pass peacefully to the other side. Beth's not about to put up with all their antics - slamming doors, creaking floors, creepy turn down service - but the spirits aren't necessarily cooperating with this uppity new generation.

With characteristic (inherited?) aplomb, Beth sets about making a life for herself on the island. Her job search yields opportunities for friendship, even career advancement. It also leads her into the arms of handsome Max Mitchell, a developer who's determined to introduce Sullivans Island to the modern age. Sure, he's a little distracted, but it's not long before Beth's imagining what their kids would look like. Her new friend, Cecily, who also happens to be the granddaughter of Livvie Singleton (The Hayes' beloved Gullah maid), cautions Beth against falling too hard. But, it's too little too late. Soon, she's got so much going on even she can hardly keep things straight - with two jobs to work, a man to keep, and a family of haints to appease, her hands are full to overflowing. Then there's her family - her cousin's drinking heavily; her Aunt Allison seems to have gone off the deep end, and Aunt Sophie just doesn't sound like herself. Beth, always the responsible one, must handle it all. But, what about her own needs? When is her life ever going to begin? Is there really a place for her on Sullivan's Island?
Sullivan's Island (which I reviewed here) charmed me with its Southern magic, but its sequel just doesn't have the same juju. The new characters aren't nearly as appealing (except for Cecily, who sparkles, just like Livvie did); even those from the first book seem duller somehow. I spent a lot of the book asking, "When did Beth turn into such a brat?" It was only toward the end that she started growing on me. A little. Frank's wild swings in point of view also drove me crazy - the majority of the book comes straight from Beth, but occasionally, Frank would linger in another character's head, giving his/her POV. I hate that. Plotwise, Return to Sullivan's Island is generic and predictable, even a little boring. I still love the authenticity of the setting, with that hint of Gullah magic in the air, but it doesn't leap off the page like it did in the first book. Conclusion? I wanted more from this sequel, and it just didn't deliver. Sorry y'all, but the magic's gone 'eah.
Grade: C
If this was (were?) a movie, it would be rated: PG-13 for some language, some sexual content, some violence, and references to drug use and underrage drinking.
This review is part of Dorothea Benton Frank's virtual tour with MotherTalk. For more opinions, check out this page.

... 'cause I snagged an award. The lovely Katie over at 101 Books in 1001 Days bestowed this on me:

Another time, we will shag, I'll teach you a little Gullah poem and we'll argue on how to make use of an entire ham. We will stroll down to the Sullivans's Island beach at dawn, talking hurricanes, tide tables and sand castles. You will spread your arms in the eastern wind and feel the sun rise in every one of your bones. Once the sand of Sullivan's Island gets in your shoes, your heart will ache to return. And return you will. You will be one of us. You won't mind being a little bit Geechee.

As the head and light of day begin to rise and glow, I'll feed you a Lowcountry breakfast of warm salted air, and smiling, you will tell all these stories to your friends until you think they're your own. You will hum this music of so much magic forever. Yes, you will. 'Eah?

I'll be honest, I haven't been really thrilled with the books Elle has sent me to review so far. The majority have been depressing, profanity-filled diatribes that I suffered through only out of duty; one was so filthy I couldn't stand to look at it, let alone review it. So, when I opened up the newest batch of books from the magazine, I gasped in surprise and delight: right on top lay a glossy, hardback copy of Alan Brennert's new novel, Honolulu. The cover alone made me sigh. Having been swept away by Brennert's first book, Moloka'i (which I reviewed here), I stepped into this new story with eager anticipation. While it's not quite as affecting as its predecessor, Honolulu draws readers in with the same aloha charm, moving them with a story as dramatic and enthralling as the islands themselves.
The story actually begins in Korea in the early 1900s. Young Regret (so named because she is not a son) lives a life that is"typically Korean" (3). As a girl, she is expected to shadow her mother, learning to cook, clean, sew and otherwise serve the men of the house. Because males and females - even relatives - must be kept separate "like wheat from chaff" (4), she spends most of her time confined to the Inner Rooms of her home; when she does venture out, she must wear a veil so as not to attract male attention. Eventually, she will marry a man chosen by her father, re-locate to his family home, and serve him under the close scrutiny of her mother-in-law. Her future is as inevitable as the rise of the sun.
Or is it? When Regret spies a discarded newspaper, a whole new world opens up in front of her. The words intrigue her. If only she could attend school like her brothers, she would be able to decipher the mysteries of the written word. When her request for an education is vehemently denied by her imposing father, Regret takes matters into her own hands. Clandestine reading lessons allow her to dream of a life away from Korea. Opportunity knocks, and soon Regret ships out to Hawaii as a "picture bride" - a woman engaged to marry a man she knows only through the exchange of photos. Her excitement turns to dread when she realizes her intended is not the wealthy young man he purported to be. In fact, he's a poor plantation worker, who tends to talk with his fists. Still, she's hopeful that life in this exotic new world will give her what she craves - a chance to learn.
And learn she does. Regret quickly discovers that life rarely turns out as planned. From the plantations of Waialua to the brothels of Iwilei to the beach at Waikiki, she will gain her education. Joy and sorrow, shame and pride, fear and peace - she will experience it all as she comes of age on an island that's gradually making its own transformation. The tale that begins with the arrival of a naive picture bride to a "sleepy little port at the end of the world" (328) ends with a woman shaped by experience, beaming with pride at the thriving melting pot that is Honolulu.
Lush and lovely, Honolulu begs to be savored. While the story holds enough twists and turns to keep the story moving, it's largely plotless. Its beauty lies in its sense of place, its sense of culture, its sense of humanity. Character trumps all else here, and Regret is the kind of character we can all cheer - she's kind, hard-working and brave. Brennert paints the sights, smells and people of Hawaii so vividly, that she becomes a character in her own right. We see her rubbing shoulders with Regret as they both come of age in a time of great adventure and chaos. Brennert mixes in enough history to make the story believable, but not boring. The result is an epic story of Hawaii, a fitting tribute to the immigrants who came to her shores and made them their own. It pays homage to a place where cultures collided to create "a whole greater than the sum of its parts" (354). But, mostly, it celebrates life - well lived.
Grade: B
If this was a movie, it would be rated: PG-13 for language, violence, some sexual content, and adult situations.