Tag: historical fiction

SPIT AND POLISH by D.A. Brown

March 5, 2024 / Kyle Wendy Skultety / 0 Comments

Ruth was delighted when she was accepted into the nursing school at Kingston General Hospital. But she didn’t realize how challenging it would be. She quickly finds her skills aren’t up to snuff and is sent to build them up as an aide at the local tuberculosis sanitarium.
It’s 1946, and when Ruth arrives, she is immediately surrounded by crowds of wounded and infected soldiers, women, and children.
Ruth must find her way among the dying, depressed, and too-friendly patients, managing demanding doctors and a jealous mentor, without being sent home or infected. Can she impress her seniors and be readmitted to the nursing program she so wants?

Thanks to LibraryThing , author DA Brown, and Somewhat Grumpy Press for this advanced reviewer’s copy!

SPIT AND POLISH is a captivating historical fiction novel that transports readers to Canada in 1946, where aspiring nurse Ruth dreams of escaping her small-town life and making a difference. Accepted into Kingston General Hospital’s nursing school, her initial excitement crumbles as she struggles with the demanding coursework. Sent to gain experience at a local tuberculosis sanatorium, Ruth is confronted with the harsh realities of illness, death, and prejudice. Surrounded by wounded soldiers, desperate families, and a complex medical environment, she must navigate challenges while honing her skills. Ruth needs to find her strength, compassion, and the resilience to succeed.

The sanatorium, teeming with wounded soldiers and civilians battling the debilitating disease, paints a stark picture of the era’s healthcare realities. The facility fairly overflows with wounded soldiers, women, and children battling the debilitating disease. Ruth grapples with the emotional and physical demands of caring for, and witnessing firsthand, the suffering and resilience of her patients. Ruth must also navigate navigate dormitory life, avoid flirting soldiers, and handle the draining emotional complexities of her family back home. The author skillfully portrays the harsh realities of the medical setting, balancing it with moments of tenderness and compassion. It is easy to empathize with Ruth’s internal struggles as she confronts her own limitations and prejudices. Her journey is one of personal and professional development, and it is satisfying to see her initial naiveté transform into empathy, strength, and self-assuredness as she faces challenges head-on.

Brown immerses the reader in the post-war atmosphere of Canada, capturing the social anxieties, medical advancements (and limitations), and evolving societal roles of women. The struggles of returning soldiers and the stigma surrounding tuberculosis are woven seamlessly into the narrative.

Ruth’s growth is relatable and engaging, and the supporting cast, from other nursing students to her domineering father, adds depth and nuance. The initial chapters do move a bit slowly as the setting and characters are established. I would have liked to see some of the secondary characters (such as Patricia, Mrs. Graham, and Mary) fleshed out some more. This information might have given some more backstory and understanding of their behavioral quirks and motivation.

One thing that was a bit jarring to me were the short paragraphs of medical notes that began each chapter. One was a quote from 1947, quite a few were from Florence Nightingale’s NOTES ON NURSING, and there was one from 2018 quite early on in the book. While I appreciated the “insider information”, I spent a few minutes trying to figure out if the quote was supposed to reflect the tone of the chapter or not. Some were relevant, while others seemed random to me. I did like the idea of headers to each chapter, but I think they would work a lot better if the words tied in with each chapter’s vignette. Another option would be to let the reader know that the paragraphs at the beginning of each chapter are taken from either various authors who are sharing their thoughts on nursing, or excerpts from textbooks that will give the reader background on how TB was treated back then, etc. That would set an expectation for the reader, allowing them to absorb the information, then move seamlessly into the storyline.

SPIT AND POLISH offers a captivating journey through a unique historical setting. Brown’s well-researched narrative sheds light on the challenges and triumphs of mid-century healthcare, while Ruth’s personal growth resonates with themes of ambition and compassion. The novel delves into the emotional toll of caring for the sick and dying, yet the harsh realities of the sanatorium are balanced with moments of tenderness and hope, creating a nuanced portrayal of human resilience. Throughout the book, the importance of human connection in the face of adversity is underscored – a lesson we can all learn from in today’s world.

Readers interested in historical fiction with strong female protagonists and a touch of medical drama will find this book satisfying. One caveat: be aware of the potential for emotional intensity due to the setting and subject matter.

Want your own copy? You can pick it up here.

THE LINDBERGH NANNY by Mariah Fredericks

November 15, 2022 / Kyle Wendy Skultety / 0 Comments

When the most famous toddler in America, Charles Lindbergh, Jr., is kidnapped from his family home in New Jersey in 1932, the case makes international headlines. Already celebrated for his flight across the Atlantic, his father, Charles, Sr., is the country’s golden boy, with his wealthy, lovely wife, Anne Morrow Lindbergh, by his side. But there’s someone else in their household—Betty Gow, a formerly obscure young woman, now known around the world by another name: the Lindbergh Nanny. A Scottish immigrant deciphering the rules of her new homeland and its East Coast elite, Betty finds Colonel Lindbergh eccentric and often odd, Mrs. Lindbergh kind yet nervous, and Charlie simply a darling. Far from home and bruised from a love affair gone horribly wrong, Betty finds comfort in caring for the child, and warms to the attentions of handsome sailor Henrik, sometimes known as Red. Then, Charlie disappears. Suddenly a suspect in the eyes of both the media and the public, Betty must find the truth about what really happened that night, in order to clear her own name—and to find justice for the child she loves.

Thanks to NetGalley and St Martins Press for this review copy!

It’s always satisfying to read a well-written historical fiction book, especially when it’s about an event that is integral to American history (the Federal Kidnapping Act was created as a result of this heinous crime). I didn’t know that much about the Lindbergh kidnapping, only that the famous aviator lost his 1-year-old child Charlie, and the baby was never seen alive again. I also was reminded that this took place in central NJ, close to where I live. Learning as I read makes a book more appealing, and this novel did not disappoint.

This story is told in the first person of the nanny herself, Betty Gow. Her love for Lindbergh Jr. is greatly professed and makes the story all the more poignant. Lindbergh Sr. is described as a gruff, sometimes joyless man while his wife seems content to live in his shadow. Gow feels guilty because she thinks Charlie is bonded with her, stronger than with either of his parents. She takes her job seriously and blames herself for not being there for Charlie, preventing the kidnapping.

Gow is written as a sympathetic character, while the others in the Lindbergh’s circle of servants are all potentially unreliable narrators. Gow does her best to try to find the guilty party while being questioned by the police multiple times. She never gives up hope until she finally identifies his body at the morgue. Her emotions are what makes her character stand out; ironically enough, Lindbergh Sr. is written as a man who despises emotions. Gow sees him as somewhat of an automaton, more interested in engines and science rather than his human wife and child. Despite her misgivings, she tries to win his favor, both before and after Charlie is kidnapped.

All the Lindbergh servants start turning on each other, laying blame back and forth until I wasn’t sure who was telling the truth or not. I definitely think I enjoyed the book more by not knowing who, if any, of the servants were to blame. Each character is described well and their motivations for orchestrating the kidnapping seem accurate. The author creates suspense as she advances the plot and I was completely enthralled with how I developed emotions towards the characters, especially Violet. I thoroughly disliked her and was frustrated when Gow tried to sympathize with her. I believe she must have been suffering with depression or some other affliction, considering her actions towards the end of the book.

The author also did an excellent job of describing the inside of the houses as well as the surrounding landscape. I found it interesting that Hopewell NJ was noted as being far away from the beaten path, while now it’s quite populated.

As the story came to an end, I found chapter 31 to be one of my favorites. As Gow takes a final visit to the house in Hopewell, the desolation is apparent:

She uses her old keys to unlock the door. Inside the air is stale with dust and emptiness. Much of the furniture has been left behind. It’s been covered in cloth. The sofa, the coffee table, the grandfather clock – all bodies dressed for burial and eternal silence. Elsie and I part to explore the rooms we can bear. I step into the kitchen, which is empty, the cabinet doors all open for some reason. Peek into the servants’ sitting room, where there is only a chair and the card table. One lamp with its plug pulled out. There are memories to be conjured if I want to. I find I don’t want to. Better to leave these as blank, meaningless spaces. Like the sofa and the clock, cover the feelings in anesthetizing white cloth. And leave them behind.

This paragraph sums up Gow’s emptiness, a hole that cannot ever be filled, a chapter in her life best left alone lest the utter insanity of it take her over.

THE LINDBERGH NANNY examines this tragedy from another point of view, and Fredericks does an excellent job. Even if you are familiar with aspects of this story, you will enjoy this book.

Want to read it? You can pick up your copy here:

The Conversations We Never Had by Jeffrey H Konis

October 4, 2016 / Kyle Wendy Skultety / 0 Comments

The Conversations We Never Had is a new memoir/historical fiction novel by Jeffrey H. Konis. It tells the tale of a grandson who had taken his grandmother for granted, but didn’t realize it until it was too late.

“My father remembers nothing about his real parents. They were dead by the time he was nine. Olga, his mother’s younger sister, not only survived the Holocaust, but was able to find my father at his hiding place – a farm in Poland – and later brought him to America to raise as her own. In all that time, he never asked her any questions about his parents,” says Jeffrey. “Years later, I moved in with Olga for a period of time, but I allowed history to repeat itself – a classic mistake – and failed to ask her the same questions my father avoided. Olga has been gone for more than twenty years, along with everything she could have told me. I am left with a sense of guilt and profound regret, wishing so badly that I could go back and have a second chance to get to know her better and learn more about my family from the only person in the world who knew them and remembered them.”

The Conversations We Never Had is a chronicle of Jeffrey’s time spent with his Grandma “Ola” and an imagining of the stories she might have shared had he only took the time to ask the questions. It is a heartwarming story that will leave you eager to spend time with your family and learn more about them before it’s too late.

Many thanks to Book Publicity Services for introducing me to this touching story. Many of us have regrets that we didn’t spend time with our family when we had the chance – myself included. Reading this story should encourage you to rectify that situation sooner rather than later.

Excerpt from Chapter 2 – Grandma Ola and Me

Over the following days, I found myself picking up the old routine of going to classes, hitting the library, getting a slice or two for dinner, going home and hibernating in my room. Grandma would occasionally check on me, I think more than anything to make sure it was indeed me and not some wayward stranger. I felt bad not spending more time with Grandma the way I had that night when we talked about her dad, but I guess I was too tired after my long days or unsure how to restart the conversation. I knew Grandma was lonely, lonelier with me around than she would have been alone. Then there was something of a break in my schedule. It was the weekend after Thanksgiving and, caught up with all my work, I decided to spend some time with Grandma and talk. Late Saturday afternoon, after the caregiver had left, I approached her.

” I know it’s been awhile but I was wondering whether we could talk some more, if you’re up for it, that is.”

“Up for it? I’ve been ‘up for it’ for the last two weeks. What do you think, that I’ll remember these things forever? You think my memory will get better as I get older?”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ve been busy with school and…” ”Jeffrey, you barely say hello to me. How many grandmothers do you have anyways? Well?”

Interesting question but, of course, she was right. My maternal grandmother died when my mother was a young girl; I never knew her father, Grandpa Eugene, who died when I was two.

But Grandma Ola said something else that made me stop to think for a second: her memory would surely deteriorate, and in the not-too-distant future. Once that went, so did any chance of learning about my paternal grandparents. There was now a sense of urgency to my mission. Indeed, there were increasing signs that her mind was starting to slip.

The phone had rung, a few nights previously, and I gave Grandma first dibs to pick up the phone to see who it was, as this was pre-caller i.d. The phone kept ringing and I looked in on Grandma, who I knew was lying on the couch in her room. The scene upon which I stumbled was humorous, though it should not have been: there was Grandma, holding a pillow to her ear and talking into it, “Hol-low? Hol-low?” I quickly picked up the phone just as my dad was about to hang up. He often called to check on both of us, to make sure that we hadn’t yet killed each other, that we were still alive.

As willing as Grandma was to have me and as eager and grateful I was to live with her, we each had our own trepidations about this new living arrangement, this uncharted territory in which we were to find ourselves. Grandma Ola had taken in her first new roommate in over forty years. Grandma, I suspect, felt responsible for my well-being. For all she knew, I could be entertaining all sorts of guests and be a constant source of noise and irritation that she had been mercifully spared for so long. I, on the other hand, was moving in with an elderly woman whose mind was on the decline, someone for whose well-being I would be responsible. Not that Grandma expected this of me; then again maybe she did.

She had employed caregivers seven days a week from nine to seven, who would look after her needs, meals, laundry, baths, doctors’ visits, grocery shopping – everything. Grandma, who was a proud, independent woman, and did not wish to argue or appear unreasonable with these good- hearted people, particularly Anna, seemed to accept their help with graciousness and gratitude. Anna may well have a different story to share but this is what I had observed. Above all, Grandma was a realist; she was aware of her own limitations.

What did I add to this equation? Not a whole lot. I did provide Grandma with some psychological comfort in the evenings when I was home. Should some life-threatening event occur, a bad fall for example, I was there to help. My services had been called upon once in this regard, though the fall in question was more humorous than harmful.

I woke up to a yell from Grandma in the middle of one night. My first thought was that she was having a nightmare and ran to her room to check on her, only she wasn’t there. Puzzled, I was on my way to the kitchen but noticed the light was on in the bathroom. I knocked and opened the door a crack. “Grandma, are you in there? Are you okay?” I asked.

She cried that she wasn’t and asked for help. I walked in to find my grandmother stuck in the bathtub on her back from which she was unable to extricate herself. She explained that she had been about to sit on what she thought was the toilet, not realizing her error until it was too late. I scooped her up and carried her back to her bed. I made sure she was indeed okay and wished her goodnight.

I suppose I shouldn’t have found any of this humorous, that this was a sad result of aging, a dreaded process, and that I should have been more compassionate and understanding. True, I suppose, but my understanding under the circumstances consisted of making sure Grandma was all right, carrying her to bed and keeping a straight face through it all. But it was funny. The only thing that wasn’t so funny was that I would be exhausted in my classes the next day owing to my lack of sleep.

As her new roommate, I was also expected to provide Grandma with some company, particularly since she had recently lost her husband. My father, I knew, expected at least this much from me; I didn’t know, on the other hand, what she expected. She likely considered my presence a mixed blessing; I might be nice to have around but also something of an intrusion.

Want your own copy? You can pick it up [easyazon_link identifier=”1478767294″ locale=”US” nw=”y” tag=”gimmethatbook-20″]here[/easyazon_link].

About the Author

After practicing law for many years, Jeffrey H. Konis left the profession to embark on a career as a high school social studies teacher. His first book, From Courtroom to Classroom: Making a Case for Good Teaching, offers a unique perspective for teachers who seek to inspire their students to learn for the sake of learning. His latest work, The Conversations We Never Had, was released in May 2016. Jeffrey loves reading, collecting fine art photography, soccer – especially Liverpool F.C. – travel, and his family most of all. He currently resides in Goshen, New York with his wife, Pamela, and sons, Alexander and Marc.

Readers can connect with him on Facebook, Twitter, and Goodreads.

Guest Post by author Hal Levey (Under The Pong Pong Tree)

July 5, 2016 / Kyle Wendy Skultety / 0 Comments

“The Japanese invasion of Singapore sets the backdrop for this World War II saga of loyalty, love, and the promise of liberation. Under the Pong Pong Tree by Hal Levey delves into the brutality of foreign occupation from a woman’s perspective, allowing a candid portrayal of a war victim to emerge from the pages of this gritty chronicle. . . .The prose is sensitive, knowledgeable, and empathetic, covering intriguing topics across an extensive time line.” -Clarion Review 5 stars

“This utterly compelling historical novel revolves around several characters whose lives have been irrevocably changed and, for the most part, damaged, by the WWII Japanese invasion of Singapore. . .The plot moves quickly with continuing storylines of many characters, and the writing and editing is flawless. Under the Pong Pong Tree will be enjoyed by a wide readership, particularly those who appreciate a fast-paced, realistic tale of war, survival and, ultimately, redemption.” -Blue Ink Starred Review

Love and the brutality of war are woven together in a beautiful, heart-wrenching tapestry in Under the Pong Pong Tree.

Thanks to Publishing Push and the author for helping me create this guest post! UNDER THE PONG PONG TREE is a wonderful, character-driven novel about love and war. Here, author Hal Levey tells us how everything came to be:

Under the Pong Pong Tree was incubated long ago during a year spent as China Medical Board Visiting Professor on the medical faculty of the National University of Singapore. The eponymous pong pong tree of Southeast Asia also is called the suicide tree. It is intended as a metaphor for the cruelty suffered by the Chinese residents of Singapore under the heel of the Japanese during World War II. I kept a journal that became a background resource. I also met many colleagues who suffered under Japanese brutality. Nevertheless, the year in Singapore was an exhilarating experience. I did a certain amount of recreational jungle bashing upcountry in Malaysia, and befriended the RAF contingent at the Seletar Air Base in Singapore. I became close friends with Squadron Leader Darrol Stinton, MBE, and joined him and the RAF Seletar Sub-Aqua Club on an expedition to Pulau Perhentian (Perhentian Island) in the South China Sea. The purpose was to develop sea rescue capabilities for airmen lost at sea. The job previously was done by the Royal Navy, but, for some reason, they terminated such operations and the RAF was obliged to create their own system.

The airmen made me Honorary Member No. 1 of the club, but harbored the faint suspicion that I was a CIA plant. Darrol died in 2012 from a hospital-borne infection at a military hospital in London. He was there for surgical replacement of titanium rods that supported his spine, stress-fractured from his years as a test pilot for the RAF. I brought him back to life in my book as Squadron Leader Darrol Stanton. I also borrowed Chinese and Malay names of individuals I had met as characters in my book. I did this to avoid inventing ethnic names that might inadvertently have had a lewd context.

The novel started to come to life when I spent a summer month in the Caribbean, lecturing to pre-med students at St. Georges University on the island of Granada. This was a pleasant diversion, and St. Georges relied on visiting faculty, mainly from Australia, India, and the USA. Part of my stipend was a room at a first-class hotel perched on a glittering white sandy beach. I delivered lectures in the morning, and spent the afternoons sipping rum punch at a tiki bar next to the hotel. Sitting on a bar stool with time on my hands, I started to scribble an outline in pencil on a yellow legal pad. I started with the setting and then populated it with my characters. Eventually they wrote their own stories and I merely transcribed them. After much picking up and putting down of the manuscript over several years, it ultimately emerged as Under the Pong Pong Tree. The first draft ran to about 185,000 words, but I chopped it down to 78,000 words in the final version.

It is a gripping story that also bears elements of a cautionary tale. In the book, the Japanese are portrayed as brutal and pitiless in their treatment of the Chinese residents of Singapore. They executed thousands and practiced decapitation almost as an art form. Today we view the Japanese as a tidy little people, hard-working, and steeped in their quaint cultural traditions. The other naughty nation, Germany, has emerged from the horrors of Nazism to become an economic powerhouse. One might wonder what the future holds for brutal regimes of the present day?

I am unaware of literary influences that have helped me along the way – although there must be some. I tend to write from the omniscient viewpoint, with little interest in the machine-gun conversational style of the contemporary best-seller. Nor do I have an affinity for the current obsession with zombies or mutated mosquitoes the size of Greyhound busses. I lost interest in fairy tales when I was about eight years old. Although, now that I think about it, I have toyed with the idea of writing a story about a hemophobic vampire. If I have a favorite author, it might be Archy, the poet reincarnated as a large cockroach, who held frequent conversations with Mehitabel, a morally ambiguous cat who claimed to be the reincarnation of Cleopatra. Mehitabel maintained her zest for life, proclaiming “there’s a dance or two in the old dame yet.” Archy typed messages to his boss, Don Marquis, by diving headfirst onto the keys. The messages understandably all were in lower case and lacked apostrophes. That did not disturb the editors of the New York Sun, who were happy to publish Archy’s messages in their daily edition.

As to the future: I might follow up with a prequel to Under the Pong Pong Tree, but only if a readership emerges from the underbrush. Otherwise, I shall move in another direction – yet to be determined.

I am currently involved in the puzzling procedure called marketing. I won’t bore you with the details, but, if you write a book, you want it read. Of course, I also might call your attention to Boswell’s quote from Samuel Johnson: “No man but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money.” Undiscovered authors are advised to refrain from such flippancies until THEY beg you to sign a major contract. Until then, we must be content to write because we are unable to not write.

Here are excerpts of excellent reviews of my book, by Clarion and Blue Ink:

“The Japanese invasion of Singapore sets the backdrop for this World War II saga of loyalty, love, and the promise of liberation. Under the Pong Pong Tree by Hal Levey delves into the brutality of foreign occupation from a woman’s perspective, allowing a candid portrayal of a war victim to emerge from the pages of this gritty chronicle. …The prose is sensitive, knowledgeable, and empathetic, covering intriguing topics across an extensive time line.”
—Clarion Review 5 stars

“This utterly compelling historical novel revolves around several characters whose lives have been irrevocably changed and, for the most part, damaged, by the WWII Japanese invasion of Singapore….The plot moves quickly with continuing storylines of many characters, and the writing and editing is flawless. Under the Pong Pong Tree will be enjoyed by a wide readership, particularly those who appreciate a fast-paced, realistic tale of war, survival and, ultimately, redemption.”
—Blue Ink Starred Review

Ruth’s Journey: The Authorized Novel of Mammy From Margaret Mitchell’s “Gone With The Wind” by Donald McCaig

July 12, 2014 / Kyle Wendy Skultety / 0 Comments

10 stars!! This was one of the better reads I’ve encountered in a long time. Written by the same man who wrote “Rhett”, (the prequel to Gone With The Wind about Rhett Butler), this is another prequel starring Mammy, Scarlett O’Hara’s beloved companion. We learn about her family, her early years, and the book ends just as the Civil War begins. Thrilling backstory with many of the familiar GWTW characters. Interesting, excellently written, and a complete joy. Run, do not walk, to buy this book when it is published later on this year.

Many thanks to the publishers, Atria Books, for giving me this in exchange for an honest review. It was a pleasure.