Book Review: Tell Me a Lie

Tell Me a Lie. Dana Killion. Monee, IL: Obscura Press, June 19, 2020, Trade Paperback and E-book, 273 pages.

Reviewed by marssie Mencotti.

Dana Killion’s protagonist, Andrea Kellner, is a no-nonsense investigative journalist and a former lawyer. Andrea is thrust into this mystery when she finds a woman's body propped up in a chair in the basement of an abandoned home purchased at auction by her sister. The location of the body and everything Andrea observes before the police arrive, make her question the circumstances of the death. She wonders if the victim was homeless, suffering from a drug overdose, had a medical issue, or was it something much more dangerous? A small wrist tattoo reveals the dead woman as someone close to those Andrea loves. Andrea is a truth-seeking investigative journalist who can’t stop trying to get at the facts surrounding this woman’s lonely death. 

Andrea Kellner is a Chicago-style protagonist. Mysteries have detectives with quirks, weak spots, spotty personal histories, and Holmesian scientific deductive reasoning abilities, including the slap on the forehead disclosure or some other device that un-fogs an outstanding clue to bring the miscreant to justice. Many mystery writers use a geographical location as a part of their milieu. Tell Me a Lie is a distinctly Chicago mystery because Killion has built a detective that is as pragmatic, persistent, and persevering as this city. She takes us through the neighborhoods while speaking our shorthand. She also knows our network of having a guy who knows a guy, our loose but effective arrangement that covers everything we need to fix or function. Killion doesn’t miss touching on the power of the city’s aldermen and the often obtuse politics that keep Chicago swirling yet moving forward. Killion doesn’t bore with lengthy love scenes, inner monologues, endless self-reflection, gratuitous sex, or violence to dress up the real story. It’s all about “how did this person end up dead and did the body have any help getting dead.” There’s nothing London foggy about this detective’s fearless drive to put the bits together, solve the mystery, and then sit down to some great wine and a delicious meal. 

Tell Me a Lie is a book for readers who skip the fluff and jump into the masterful pacing of critical information and the exhilaration of solving the crime with the detective—not ahead of her or behind her. Except for the detective’s bit of grousing that the dead body takes time away from her job, she is single-minded in getting an answer to this “locked room” sort of mystery. No dithering—she takes off like a starving hunter-gatherer, picking up any piece of information she can with the help of her assistant, an up-and-coming young journalist and researcher, Brynne, who taps her people network for even more information. Kellner follows the money, passion, greed, love, shadowy intent, and sometimes the unfortunate experiment. And, she continues to do her “other” job, albeit without much dedication. She’s a woman who holds down all of her obligations, both personal and private, without whining about her choices.

A word about the title, “Tell Me a Lie,” and the subtext about possibly dying alone. Killion leads us to think about what it means to die alone and what that means to her detective, but she barely explores that theme. I find it more intriguing that often Andrea Kellner is told a lie by the people she interviews. Those lies or half-truths propel and compel her to find out the real story.

There’s so much that I appreciated about this book. It is smart and never talks down about complicated pharmaceuticals, real estate, the world of drug rehab, or unconventional Chicago zoning laws. This detective is compassionate without being syrupy, not in need of hand-holding, and methodical and thorough, which makes for a fast and compelling read. Once you get on Killion’s rollercoaster, it is impossible to get off. There are a few small things that may disappoint the reader. The ending is a bit abrupt, and some items—not the crime—are foreshadowed heavily. Some male characters seem to get less page-time, and the ultimate involvement of the CPD in the case is a bit murky.

But in the end, I forgave everything because, as a Chicago person, I like Killion’s style reflecting the fast yet focused hustle of our city. I feel genuine glee when it’s portrayed as I experience it–a free and easy place on the surface but riddled beneath with a million paths to get what it wants. Tell Me a Lie is about that curious person on the street who can’t leave a stone unturned. Andrea Kellner doesn’t need a fancy CSI team, black helicopters of questionable identity, convoluted intrigue, or enough firepower to blow up a city block. Dana Killion writes a true Chicago mystery that’s an energizing and enjoyable experience.

Book Review: Death in Central America

Death in Central America. Jack Hafferkamp. Independently Published, December 4, 2019, Trade Paperback and E-book, 315 pages.

Reviewed by Lisa Lickel.

Former arts reporter for the Chicago Daily News and creative writing teacher Jack Hafferkamp’s latest novel, Death in Central America, takes place in Guatemala and post-Noriega Panama of the 1990s when civil war is still very ugly, and the political situation with the U.S. is worse.

The novel begins close to the end of the story, so the reader understands much of what happened. The journey of the book is learning how a particular disaster unfolds. We are introduced to the main players, and, since we readers know who survives, I found myself following them superficially through the first third of the book. The first three-quarters of the book felt like paging through a travel guide. A group of journalists has been invited to Central America by the governments of Guatemala and Panama to boost tourism after a ferocious civil war devastated the economy. It’s a large cast. I like large casts, but knowing that most people don’t make it to the end makes it a little harder to read about them. The group is relatively typical: two gay couples, the guy who knows what’s really going on, and the expendable ones who still try to manage life interrupted back home. There’s the classic jerk who’s something more, the young naïve guy who acts as the question-and-answer fall guy, an expat as the host, and a native woman as the local guide in Guatemala. They are built up with lives and personalities and then dropped when the group moves on. In Guatemala, the tourism representatives at least try to hide the unrest from tourists. In Panama, the journalists are not so lucky.

Discouraging and distinctly unwelcoming events happen, told through lots of description, food, developing relationships, sexual situations, and a little shame on entitled gringos. A fight and accidental death end the group’s visit to Guatemala. In Panama, they pick up a new guide with curious connections. Eventually, the horror builds to the last days of their junket when the truth behind their invitation to write about ecotourism in a ravaged nation during dangerous times is revealed, and a covert mission goes way off track.

One of the characters describes their situation well: “So how do we write nice travel stories about a beautiful place where there is enough street thuggery that you need an armed guard to take in the sights, and then, on a sunny day, with no warning, an arrogant guy in a uniform, holding a gun, can just pull you over and scare the shit out of you because of his inflated sense of entitlement?” 

Told in head-hopping fashion, so the reader gets to know what everybody is thinking, the stakes go from once-beautiful war-torn countries wishing for good advertising to the survival of the fittest. The author's background in writing adult lit is evident in the sensual descriptions of food and scenery, even the passionate political dialog, innuendo, and gratuitous sex. Violence is recounted in near unrelenting fashion throughout the last few chapters, and the switch back to a member of the party returned early to the U.S. brings it all home in a journalistic twist. I recommend Death in Central America for those who appreciate Central America, want to delve more into its recent past, and aren't bothered by blood.

Book Review: Trials & Truffles: Expats in Brussels

Trials & Truffles: Expats in Brussels. T.D. Arkenberg. Outskirts Press, Inc., June 24, 2020, Hardcover, Trade Paperback, and E-book, 376 pages.

Reviewed by Terrell Isselhard. 

T.D. Arkenberg’s Trials & Truffles, Expats in Brussels is a love story, but as the author so rightly observes at the opening of the book, “Loves stories are complex,” and this one is no exception.

Trials & Truffles details Arkenberg’s time living abroad in Brussels when his husband Jim’s long-held dream of working abroad in Europe comes true.

Arkenberg first deals with the challenges of making the relocation, such as safely transporting their beloved dog Sadie, finding renters for their house, and finding a place to live in Brussels. He does a wonderful job moving through the process and keeping the story enjoyable while also reflecting openly and honestly about the many feelings that surface as he prepares to leave his Chicagoland home. 

In Brussels, Arkenberg braves the emotional adjustment of being in a new city, which is made all the more difficult by Jim’s demanding new job. He describes his lonely excursions out into the city, and the cool, Belgian response he received. “My polite nods to strangers went unreturned; hellos and bonjours went unanswered. Passersby who didn’t avert their gazes glared. Sneers rebuffed my smiles.”

Eventually, though, Arkenberg finds a writers group in Brussels, even if he has to stomach a few science fiction stories. A kindly neighbor, Barbara, and an audacious cat, Puhi, help Arkenberg and Jim transform Brussels into a familiar city where they feel at home. Of course, not everything in Brussels turns rose-colored. Jim’s Belgian boss creates a great deal of stress that boils over into their home, and a terrorist threat puts the city on lockdown. Arkenberg is able to write through the progression of these events in a way that’s both accessible and intriguing. The drama at Jim’s job probably would not pique our interest out of context, but as we settle into the Belgian home with Arkenberg and his husband, the work trouble becomes our trouble. His openness about these stresses brings the story to life, as does his genuine enjoyment of travel and meeting new people. Seeing the trip through his eyes makes even the mundane seem interesting.

Another strength of the book is Arkenberg’s approach to capturing Brussels. It’s easy in travel memoirs to get caught in sightseeing mode and write pages of descriptions, but this book is a love story, albeit a complicated one. Love is the thread that ties the various scenes and reflections together: his love for Jim, their love for their dog Sadie, and the love that develops for their adopted home Brussels. This book is about the challenges and enduring strength that love provides; Brussels is just the backdrop. It might have been nice to get a bit more detail about Brussels itself in the book. While it’s a blessing, the book doesn’t read like a slide show of Arkenberg’s trip. A bit more detail about the history of the places he was traveling through and how that might loom over the current events he chronicles in his book would have been interesting. It’s a minor gap, and there’s not a total absence of such insights either. Arkenberg’s descriptions are careful, precise, and guided by a sensitive author keen on capturing the love story he set out to share.

I recommend this book for fans of travel writing, relationship-driven literary non-fiction, and of course, romantics everywhere. Trials & Truffles, Expats in Brussels might be a complicated love story, but evaluating the book is a straightforward affair—it’s a clear success. 

Book Review: Brave(ish)

Brave(ish). Margaret Davis Ghielmetti. She Writes Press, September 15, 2020, Trade Paperback and E-book, 248 pages.

Reviewed by Dipika Mukherjee.

Margaret Davis Ghielmetti’s memoir, Brave(ish), is perfect for reading through the pandemic. Ghielmetti is a skilled storyteller who takes the confined reader out of a single room, straight out of the country, and into a journey around the world. And what a spectacular journey it is! Through Ghielmetti’s eyes, we luxuriate in the opulence of luxury hotels and resorts in Paris, Cairo, Sharm el Sheik, Chiang Mai, Bangkok, Singapore, and India, before bringing us back to Illinois.

The words of the prologue are fraught with the delicious danger of straying into the unknown, as well as the primal fear all expatriates grapple with as they head for an unfamiliar culture in a faraway country: 

So yes: we’re off, and I’ve got this!

I think I’ve got this.

I’ve got this, right?

Brave(ish) is the story of a woman, who at 40, quits her sales job in Chicago to become a trailing spouse while her husband blazes through a hotel career around the world. Everyone tells her she is living a dream, and often she feels lucky but inadequately grateful for that good fortune. She drifts into alcohol dependency, adrift from any professional identity, and far from all that is familiar. She does not ask for help, and when it is given, she accepts with reluctance:

Then I crumple, sniffling in the back seat of the van. Our driver—without a word—goes to buy me a bottle of cold water at a tourist kiosk by the entrance to the monastery. He hands me a sandwich of pita bread and hummus . . . I open my mouth to protest, but he shakes his head and smiles at me, saying. “Eat, Madaam, Rest.” This is the hospitality of this country: an Egyptian will literally give you the shirt off his back (or the sandwich out of his lunch box).

Brave(ish) is filled with such courtesies, small and large. Ghielmetti is unfailingly gracious not only to the host country's population but also towards friends who visit. She feels guilty about turning away any guests and her distance from aging parents. 

Being an expatriate in challenging, but very few of the intercultural tensions come through in this book. There is not even a whiff of political upheaval, although we travel through Egypt, Thailand, and India. The effect is of being led on a luxurious journey—like a ride on the Oriental Express—with the heat and dust very far away, outside. 

Ghielmetti is unflinchingly honest about her struggles with inner demons. She finds God in an early epiphany, and the voice of God recurs through her battle with alcohol and the strain to rediscover her purpose in life. When she returns to Evanston and deals with her parents' death, she is very conscious of what has changed about her sense of self: 

I remind myself how other former expatriates had warned me that the biggest culture shock is upon return to the home country . . . I am happy to be back, but that's not how I see the world. I determine to consider this move back to the US as adjusting to yet another "new" culture.

Overall, this is a beautifully written travelogue about losing yourself through journeying, then finding your strength within. There is much to learn from this slim book, both linguistically and culturally.

Brave(ish) is a gorgeous, meditative book.

Book Review: How to Write Compelling Stories from Family History

How to Write Compelling Stories from Family History. Annette Gendler. Nana’s Books, December 3, 2019, Trade Paperback and E-book, 102 pages.

Reviewed by Deb Lecos.

How to Write Compelling Stories from Family History, is a guide for those who want to pen personal stories for future generations, research and confirm oral lore, and publish a memoir. Her newest book is the successful memoirist’s message to “someday writers,” who might say, “Someday, I’ll write about when I was in the circus or when grandma survived the Great Depression.” Ms. Gendler offers storytelling dreamers a framework for writing worthwhile and inspirational memory-keepers for readers.

The quote that begins the book, by the Maharal of Prague, is a reminder and an invitation: “If you don’t remember your past, you will not be able to adequately assess your present. If you don’t remember where you came from, you will never be able to judge where you have arrived at.” Memoirs, either reading or writing them, are windows to the past, bread crumbs linking moments with historical relevance to the present day. 

There are two aspects presented by the author for writing a memoir. One is a structural “how to” research approach, with suggestions about where to find information and open-ended questions to ask family members. These are nudges to life-in-the-day historians to reveal their past because, as Ms. Gendler states, “Stories give meaning to traditions.” Included in chapters on research are the author’s successes and missed opportunities as she investigated the life of her Great Aunt Rezi. Each of these as-they-happened accountings gives future family-memoirists areas to focus on and tips for avoiding similar problems.

The other aspect of this book focuses on direct statements about what makes a compelling story. Compelling stories aren’t only tragic, dark, and painful. Even happy, mundane, or seemingly unimportant events can have value for cataloging—followed by a note of caution from the author. “Events that are worth telling are those that were transformative.” An example is a story of a child stealing plastic fangs from a drug store who must face a challenge, have learned something, and been changed by dealing with it. The author adds, “As soon as you find yourself in an ‘and then this happened, and then that happened’ mode, you’re boring.”

Throughout this writer’s guide, the author ends chapters with more than the standard “how-to” prompts. Having read other books on writing memoir, I found this book the best at keeping it simple and clear while giving creative suggestions. I have written memoirs and published true-life essays and still found these prompts providing beneficial, fresh perspective as well as plenty of new information. This book isn’t just for beginners. In my opinion, the advice is helpful for those at every stage of the memoir or fiction writing process. Good fiction also needs to be compelling, well-researched, and believable. 

Along with prompts, the author provides writing samples, her own and others, as tools for the reader to understand concepts on compelling story design. From the first sentence and through the details, including what works and what doesn’t, each example further defines what is compelling and what isn’t. A few years ago, I attended a question-and-answer session with published memoirists. A woman in the audience asked, “I had a happy childhood and a happy adulthood, why can’t I get my happy life memoir published?” One of the authors on the panel replied with a question, “What’s in it for the reader?” The woman was instantly angry, saying, “Oh, I see, you need to be messed up to write a memoir?” Then the panelist gifted her with a two-stage answer that I think encapsulates why it’s advantageous for future memoirists to read Ms. Gendler’s book on writing compelling family history. “It helps . . .” The audience laughed, then the author continued. “. . . Not everything is happy in my life, but maybe it is in yours. I might want to read your book if it has a transformational element that has meaning for me.”