All Good People Here by Ashley Flowers: A review

Twenty years ago in Wakarusa, Indiana, six-year-old Margot Davies' friend and neighbor, January Jacobs, was kidnapped one night. Only hours after her parents awoke to find that she was gone, her dead body was found in a ditch. Her kidnapper/killer was never found and brought to justice.

Now, twenty-six-year-old Margot is a big-city journalist. Her life was scarred by the murder of her friend. She always had nightmares that it could have been her.

Margot has returned to her hometown to care for her sick uncle and she finds that the town is just the same as she remembers with the same stifling atmosphere. Then history repeats itself.

In a neighboring town, five-year-old Natalie Clark has gone missing under circumstances eerily similar to the January Jacobs case. The similarity becomes even stronger when the child's body is found.

Margot is consumed by her interest in the case and its similarities to that of her friend and she is determined to investigate and write a story that will make her job secure. Instead, her failure to deliver the story that her editors wanted on time results in her being terminated from her job.

She is undeterred, however; she continues digging and working to discover the truth about both cases. She is convinced that the kidnapper/killer is the same person in both instances. She follows her journalistic instincts and training in working to uncover the truth.

This book was 336 pages long but it felt longer to me. The story developed slowly and the reading of it felt equally slow. This was the author's debut novel. Her background is that of a true crime podcast producer. This book may be a reflection of her inexperience in that there is a lack of character development and the plot does not adequately (in my opinion) flesh out the story about the similarities between the modern and historical murders of two little girls. And, my goodness, Ms. Flowers, give us an ending! Don't just leave everything hanging ambiguously.

In spite of my caveats, this was a creditable first novel and I would look for even better things from Flowers in the future.

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: 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. ...

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 ...

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