After trembling through more than one book-induced nightmare, I made a vow: I will never read a scary book at night, especially if (A) My husband is out of town or (B) I am the only adult in the house who is awake. I've lived by this rule for years. Yet, somehow, in the wee hours of Tuesday morning, I found myself whipping through the last third of Charlie Higson's dystopian horror novel, The Enemy. The combination of 32 oz. of Baja Blast and a 3-hour afternoon nap had me wide awake at 2 a.m. What better time to read about zombies, right? Um, riiiiight.



The Enemy starts with an unnerving sentence: "Small Sam was playing in the parking lot behind the Waitrose supermaket when the grown-ups took him" (3). With a beginning as auspicious as that, it's probably no surprise that, with each succeeding page, the story gets more and more chilling. Although I found myself laughing at certain passages ("A parent might have grounded you, a teacher might have kept you after school, and the police might have arrested you, but none of them would have tried to eat you, like the grown-ups who wandered the streets these days" [19]"), the book's definitely spooky. It's also a fast-paced thrill ride with plenty of horror-typical blood and gore. Character development is not The Enemy's strong point, but the kids are, for the most part, young and helpless enough to garner immediate sympathy. The older ones are tough, brave, and fiercely protective of the younger children, making them admirable as well. Although Higson doesn't divulge all the secrets of his freaky dystopian world - leaving me with plenty of unanswered questions - it had me convinced enough to keep flipping through pages at 3:00 in the morning. And double check all my locks. And make sure all the windows were secure. And peek outside to confirm the neighborhood was as zombie-free as it seemed.
The Enemy isn't as complex as some of the other YA dystopian books out there, but it's definitely a fun, creepy read. It moves quickly, but even so, I recommend starting it early in the morning because, trust me, you're going to want to finish it long before dark.
(Readalikes: Reminds me a lot of the Gone series by Michael Grant and a bit of The Forest of Hands and Teeth books by Carrie Ryan)

Pretty much everything I know about tsarist Russia comes from the movies Fiddler on the Roof (1971) and Anastasia (1997). I'm sure I studied world history at some point during my schooling, but when I think of early 20th Century Russia, I see animated figures dancing around Palace Square and hear Tevye singing, "If I Were A Rich Man." Yes, I do realize that my tenuous, Hollywood-tainted grasp on Russian history is slightly pathetic. However, it explains, at least in part, why I was so thrilled when Deseret Book offered me the opportunity to review Gale Sears' new novel, The Silence of God. The story unfurls in a time and place that I've only experienced through film - reading about the rich, complex history of St. Petersburg brought the setting to life like no movie ever could. If the words to "Sunrise, Sunset" floated through my head as I read, well, that's not such a bad thing, right?

Although the book is fictional, it centers around a real family, the members of which were the only known Latter-Day Saints living in Russia at the time. Johan Lindlof, the father, made his living as a gold and silversmith. His job provided enough income for the family to live in relative luxury as part of St. Petersburg's wealthy, bourgeois middle class. He and his wife were the parents of eight children, the oldest of whom was born in 1888, the youngest, in 1903. The story focuses mainly on Agnes (b. 1894), who was in her early 20s when most of the book's events take place.

The Silence of God begins with a quiet blessing of the Russian land by apostle Francis Marion Lyman. The Lindlofs are thrilled to be in the presence of a respected leader of their church and even more delighted by his prayer, which prophesies that their country will be important in the spread of the Gospel. Although the Lindlofs have great faith in the Lord, present circumstances hardly indicate an opening of minds or softening of hearts toward God. With poverty running rampant through St. Petersburg and the common people up in arms over the tsar's apparent indifference, it looks as though the city's headed for war, not religious enlightenment. When the Bolsheviks seize power, everyone's loyalties become subject. The Lindlofs become targets not only because of their money, but because of their strange American religion. Johan believes in obeying the laws of his land - he just doesn't agree with the rebels' Socialist ideals. His staunch faith, coupled with his refusal to side with the Bolsheviks, puts Johan and his family at great risk in a city pulsing with an unrest that's becoming more violent by the hour.

Natasha Ivanovna Gavrilova, a Bolshevik propaganda writer and Agnes' lifelong friend, knows the Lindlofs are good people, even if they have been bamboozled by angels and golden bibles. Her father, a university professor, has taught Natasha to think carefully about everything. And she is. Maybe too carefully, because a conversation she has with Johan Lindlof about the difference between Socialism and Mormonism's law of consecration just won't leave her mind. Who will bring peace to Russia, she wonders - Lenin and the Bolsheviks? The tsar? The Mormons? The more Natasha Ivanovna considers the question, the more confused she's becoming. When the Lindlofs suffer a terrible fate, she must decide where her loyalties lie. Only Natasha Ivanovna, a recognized Bolshevik, has the power to save her dearest friend, a woman her comrades have declared an enemy-of-the-state.

Set against the tumultuous backdrop of a country in crisis, The Silence of God is the unforgettable story of a family whose faith sustains them even in the most desperate of circumstances. As preachy or cheesy as it may sound, the book is much more than a tale of enduring to the end. Since we spend most of the story inside Natasha Ivanovna's head, we delve into the eternal and inevitable clashes between politics and religion; youthful zeal and tradition; the common people and their governments; and, of course, man's weakness v. God's power. It's these ideas, plus the way Sears makes the history come alive that makes this book so riveting. Usually, I dislike historical fiction in which the history vastly outweighs the fiction - in this book, however, I hardly cared. The drama, tragedy, and triumph intrinsic in Russia's history swept me clean away. Viewing it through the struggles of the Lindlof Family only made it more vivid, more real. Even though I had trouble keeping track of the many Lindlofs, none of whom were rounded enough to really stand out, I realized just how "close" I'd grown to them when I discovered that Sears altered their fates in the book. It still surprises me, somehow, that real life can be so much crueller than fiction.

As much as I enjoyed both Fiddler on the Roof and Anastasia, The Silence of God made me realize how much I missed by allowing them to be my only portals into Russian history. Tevye still makes me laugh and the possibility of Anastasia's survival will always capture my imagination, but Gale Sears is the one who really made it all come alive for me. I can't be quiet about this one - The Silence of God is a touching must-read. It does more justice to the richness of tsarist Russia than anything else I've encountered. Don't miss it.

(Readalikes: Reminded me a little of Dean R. Hughes' World War II series, Children of the Promise)

Grade: B+

If this were a movie, it would be rated: PG for war-related violence and threats of violence (both physical and sexual)

To the FTC, with love: I received a finished copy of The Silence of God from the generous folks at Deseret Book. Thank you!

Just when I couldn't possibly love Robyn Carr any better, she goes and writes A Summer in Sonoma. Granted, the new book is not set in Virgin River and Jack Sheridan doesn't even make a cameo, but it still held me captive. Robyn teased me about planting surprises in the book that she knew would tickle my fancy - and she's right. They did. Just tickled me pink. The V.R. books will always be my favorites, but A Summer in Sonoma runs a very close second.

The story revolves around four women who have been close friends since junior high. Cassie, an E.R. nurse, thrives on the adrenaline rush she gets from work, but wants something much quieter out of life - a family. When a tussle with another in a long line of lying jerks leads her to Walt, who just might be the most decent man she's ever met, Cassie has to decide how much outward appearances really have to do with happiness. Julie, who's worn a wedding ring since preschool - it seems - is overwhelmed with taking care of her house, chasing her brood, and pinching ever penny until it bleeds. When the stress leads her to make a devastating decision, she know things have to change. Marty's got it all - a handsome husband, a large home, a luxurious RV, plenty of money to spare - but she's tired of her lackluster love life, her current status of working mom/maid, and the indifference she feels emanating from her macho Italian man. A chance encounter with an old boyfriend finally makes her feel desired, dangerously desired. Then, there's Beth, a brilliant doctor who's hiding a terrible secret.

Even though each woman struggles with a different set of problems, they all find strength and support within their circle of friendship. Their bond is strong as cement, but will it be enough to get them all through their crises?

While several aspects of the book's plot hit home with me, it's really the warmth of A Summer in Sonoma that I responded to most. Despite the characters' issues, it's an upbeat novel about ordinary people struggling with common problems. It's typically optimistic and predictable, hallmarks of a Robyn Carr novel. Although the characters could've probably used some fleshing out, I enjoyed them nonetheless. Big, hairy Walt especially appealed to me - even though he doesn't resemble Virgin River's sexy Jack in the least :) Then, there's that LDS fire chief. He may not be all that swoon-worthy, but at least he's a nice, honest representation of Mormon manhood. Even though I'd rather spend a day in Virgin River than Sonoma, I'll go pretty much wherever Robyn Carr decides to take me. I'll follow her happy, heartwarming vibes (not to mention those irresistible V.R. men) absolutely anywhere.

(Readalikes: The House On Olive Street by Robyn Carr and other stories about women's friendships)

Grade: B

If this were a movie, it would be rated: R for strong language and sexual content

To the FTC, with love: I received this ARC from the always generous Robyn Carr. Thank you!