SWEET, SOFT, PLENTY RHYTHM by Laura Warrell

three children. Despite being set over just three days, Strong’s book manages to distill the essences of not only the characters, but of their decades of shared history and the complicated, complex relationships among them. Above all else, the family loved Helen, and in the wake of her death, they must navigate the new dynamic and learn how to love one another again. Across town, Quinn and her daughter, Madeleine—Alice’s clients—are relearning how to be a family, too, after Quinn temporarily lost custody of the girl. When Madeleine goes missing, the siblings spring into action to find her—and, in the process, begin to gain perspective about their own lives and relationships. With deft, discerning prose, Strong writes beautifully about mothers and the struggles, fears, and joys of motherhood. At one point, Kate confesses the depth of her grief to Tess: “But she’s the only person in the world who ever saw me the way she saw me, who loved me like that, who remembered me as all the things I’d ever been and also thought of me as all the things she still thought I might become.” As the novel comes to a close, Strong offers moments of connection among the family members that feel genuine and earned.

A quiet domestic novel that soars. (This review is printed here for the first time.)

Warrell, Laura Pantheon (368 pp.) $28.00 | Sept. 20, 2022 978-0-593-31644-3

An impressive debut novel weaves storylines of lost love, coming-of-age, and midlife crisis to chronicle a Bostonbased jazz musician’s reckoning with the untidy spoils of his myriad affairs.

Trumpeter Cyrus Palmer—better known to family, friends, and fans as Circus—seems irresistible to just about every woman who crosses his path. The spring of 2013 finds him turning 40 and wondering whether this magnetism has been more a curse than a blessing. He has just found out, for instance, that Maggie Swan, a feisty percussionist he digs the most at the moment, is pregnant with his child. He’s not overjoyed about this news as it coincides with a potentially career-transforming project; and especially because, as he tells Maggie, “I already got a kid barely talks to me.” Indeed, Koko, Circus’ moody, truculent 14-year-old daughter from a previous liaison, may well be the only female on the planet impervious to his charms. A big reason for which is that Circus, saying the least, isn’t all that good at being an attentive, empathetic dad to Koko at a time when her own emotional life is as chaotic as her dad’s. Circus’ clumsy if earnest attempts to bond with Koko seem perpetually interrupted by impromptu engagements with his loves past and present, including Pia, Koko’s tormented mother; Peach, a warmhearted neighborhood bartender; Angela, a drama professor who sees Circus as “a beautiful, beautiful failure”; and assorted others who are dazzled, confounded, exasperated, or obsessed with him. Vivid, poignant portraits of these women are interspersed with the separate struggles of both Circus and Koko to get through transitions that have little in common with each other except pain and shame. Though this is her first novel, Warrell displays delicately wrought characterization and a formidable command of physical and emotional detail. Her more intimate set pieces deliver sensual, erotic vibrations, and, most crucially for a novel that takes its title from Jelly Roll Morton, she knows how to write about the way it feels to deliver jazz— and receive it.

Wurth, Erika T. Flatiron Books (320 pp.) $27.99 | Nov. 1, 2022 978-1-2508-4765-2

An Indigenous woman encounters the supernatural when she touches her missing mother’s old bracelet and raises a monster. Kari James would be the first to tell you she’s not a traditional Indigenous woman. “I was more of a work at the bar, go to the bar, thrash at a heavy metal concert kind of Indian than a powwow Indian,” she admits. In her mid-30s, Kari lives a disorderly life. She cares for her disabled father but still revels in late nights drinking and smoking at her favorite dive bar, White Horse, and enjoying the music of headbanger Dave Mustaine, the horror novels of Stephen King, and the occasional random hookup. She’s mostly ignored the spiritual aspects of her Apache and Chickasaw ancestors, preferring a good party instead. Then her cousin Debby finds an old family bracelet that once belonged to Kari’s mother, who’d vanished when Kari was a baby. Kari has always assumed her mother abandoned her, but when she touches the bracelet, she experiences violent, troubling visions about the past and her family, and a dangerous monster is unleashed. Set in and around Denver and its neighboring communities, this is a unique, dark twist on the modern ghost story that deftly blends an understanding of the mysticism of Indigenous culture with the horrors of poverty, abuse, and addiction. Sometimes the plot feels a bit chaotic, but the tumult mirrors Kari’s roiling emotions. She’s haunted not only by her mother’s disappearance, but also by the death of her best friend from an overdose, a tragedy Kari believes she could have prevented. As Kari fumbles toward the truth about her family and faces off against a nightmarish entity, Wurth—who is of Apache/Chickasaw/ Cherokee descent—paints a compelling portrait of friendship, love, and the quest for self-respect, offering a fierce and generous vision of contemporary Native American life.

of Indigenous spiritualism with earthly terrors. (This review is printed here for the first time.)