Dark August by Katie Tallo: A review

Katie Tallo is an award-winning screenwriter and director who has decided to try her hand at writing a novel, a thriller. Dark August is the result. The August of the title might refer to the month when much of the action takes place or it might refer to the main character. Maybe it is meant to be ambiguous.

That character's name is Augusta but she goes by Gus. She is the twentyish daughter of two police officers both of whom are dead in tragic circumstances. Her father was shot and killed on the job. Then twelve years ago her mother was killed in what was ruled an accident. But was it? That is one of the things that haunts Gus.

Once both her parents were dead, Gus' only living relative was her great-grandmother. The woman took her in but was unable to provide the loving and attentive family that she needed. She ended up sending Gus to a boarding school and insisted that the school keep her on-campus full-time, even during holidays. This was the way Gus grew up and she escaped as soon as she could and hooked up with the wrong kind of people, including a boyfriend who knocked her around. At a low point in that abusive relationship, she is informed that her great-grandmother has died and has left Gus her house.

Gus doesn't think twice. She takes some money from the boyfriend's wallet while he is sleeping and leaves without a word, heading for the town where her great-grandmother lived. She takes possession of the house and her great-grandmother's ancient dog, but she learns that there is a reverse mortgage on the house and that the bank will own it within three months. She starts making halfhearted efforts to get the house ready for sale and in the basement, she finds an old blue footlocker that she had as a child. In the footlocker, she finds hidden away files that her mother had been collecting before her death. The files contain evidence in a cold case that had obsessed her mother in the months before she died. As Gus looks at what she found, she becomes equally obsessed, both with the case her mother was investigating and the circumstances of her mother's death. She launches her own investigation following where the clues lead her. Then she becomes aware that people that she has interviewed in the course of her investigation seem to be having an unusual number of unfortunate accidents. She seems to have started a wildfire that someone is trying desperately to tamp down.

The narrator here is third party but the point of view is basically that of Gus. I found her character a bit off-putting and hard to warm up to, and there were certain elements of the narrative that seemed extraneous and unnecessary - such as the reappearance of the boyfriend Gus had left behind. What exactly did that random episode accomplish? Nothing that I could determine.

Nevertheless, on the whole, I found this an enjoyable read and once the elements of the story started fitting together, things became a lot clearer and more cohesive. I would recommend it as an engaging summer read that doesn't require a lot of contemplation.

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters! Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...

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