The God of the Woods by Liz Moore: A review

The Van Laar family owns a summer camp for kids in the Adirondacks. Their thirteen-year-old daughter, Barbara, is attending that summer camp in August 1975. When the camp counselor goes to wake her early one morning, she finds Barbara's bunk empty and a cursory search does not find her. Barbara is missing.

Moreover, fourteen years earlier, Barbara's older brother, Bear, had also vanished when he was eight years old, never to be found. Now it seems to have happened again. But why? Are the two disappearances related and will Barbara be found?

The Van Laars are a seriously damaged family and not just because of these two tragedies. The father, Peter, is a workaholic and an authoritarian ruler of the family. The psychologically damaged mother, Alice, is an alcoholic and pill addict. The grandparents are equally messed up, a harsh grandfather and a silent, obedient grandmother. What a family life for the two kids to have endured!

The story features several strong female characters. There is Judyta Luptack, a former national trooper and now the first female state investigator at the age of twenty-six. She is idealistic and able to view things in ways that others cannot see. Assigned to the Van Laar disappearance case, she hopes to use those skills to find out exactly what has happened.

The camp director is T.J., a no-nonsense, resilient woman. She runs the camp without allowing interference from anyone, including the Van Laars.

There is Louise, who had been an abuse victim and is now raising her younger brother.

Then there is Alice who is struggling to find her place in the world while dealing with losses that threaten to numb her into oblivion.

We get the stories of all these women with their different timelines. It's a tale with several twists and surprises. It is a very well-written story and I would not be surprised to see it nominated for various prizes.

My rating: 3 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. ...

The Nature of Things

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