I absolutely loved this book. Set in 1917, Let Darkness Bury the Dead is a moving, compelling, textured portrayal of Toronto at the height of World War I. As the book begins, Detective William Murdoch is at the train station to pick up his son, 20-year-old Jack who has come home from the war to recuperate from an injury. Jack is accompanied by his fellow soldier Percy; both are dealing with PTSD and haunted by the things they’ve been through. As Jack and Murdoch head home, Jack sees a dog and muses about a similar dog he’s seen in the war, and how it met a gruesome end from crossfire.

Shortly after Jack’s return, a young man is found murdered. Then another. And soon it appears a serial killer is loose in Toronto. The common thread: all the victims were granted exemptions from military service. One of the victims had a book with a white feather tucked inside — a symbol of cowardice handed out by women to men who didn’t enlist. (I learned that from a Downton Abbey episode, and Murdoch himself laments the practice, as there are many valid reasons a man may need to stay behind from the war.) Another victim was found with a yellow cross painted on his back — the colour of cowardice, a detective on Murdoch’s team points out.

Let Darkness Bury the Dead is, on the surface, a straightforward murder mystery, but the question of the killer’s identity is almost secondary to the pain and sorrow and anger that permeates the characters’ lives because of the war. The novel is absolutely steeped in the atmosphere of World War I, and its impact on the both the people sent to fight and the people left behind. Jack and Percy’s PTSD feels real, and the nightmares both live with are subtly yet horrifically depicted. There was also a huge debate about the war itself, and Jennings does a beautiful job of humanizing both sides. On one hand, there are people vehemently opposed to the war, including activists for peace like Jack’s love interest Fiona, but also families terrified of losing their main breadwinner and mothers worried about their sons. And on the other hand, there are people who want to support the war efforts, and notably, it’s not that they necessarily agree with the war itself, but they want to protect their families back home, or keep their sons safe abroad, or most movingly, they want the risks and the deaths their families are going through to mean something. Even the killer’s motivations are complex and difficult to parse, and the eventual reveal of their identity has emotionally devastating consequences.

I’m familiar more with the TV show Murdoch Mysteries than the book series that started it all, so I can’t say how well this fits with the rest of the series. I’m just glad that the book Murdoch’s deceased wife is named Amy and not Julia, as I really like Hélène Joy’s character on the TV show. As my first (possibly second?) foray into the Murdoch books, Let Darkness Bury the Dead is beautifully written, with complex, captivating characters. While the mystery itself is compelling, it’s the World War I atmosphere that pulses from the page, and makes this world come to life. I can’t — and to be honest, don’t really want to — begin to imagine the fear and uncertainty of living in that time period, but Jennings brings her characters to life with empathy and care. I highly recommend this book.

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Thank you to Penguin Random House Canada for a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

At the Fall 2017 Preview, Penguin Random House Canada billed Artemis as “a heist set on the moon,” and really, what sci-fi geek bookworm could resist? By the author of The Martian, Artemis is about a small-time smuggler named Jazz Bashara who gets a once-in-a-lifetime shot at a seven figure payday. All she needs to do is commit industrial sabotage on the moon’s most powerful corporation. What she doesn’t realize is that she’s become part of a much larger conspiracy, one with far-reaching political consequences for the moon’s small community.

Much like The Martian, Artemis is filled to bursting with scientific and engineering information that makes you believe the story is actually possible. If humanity did have a colony on the moon, Artemis does sound a lot like how it would function, and if a real-life Jazz Bashara had to pull of such a heist, Weir manages to make the most outlandish scenarios seem realistic. Weir’s extensive research and love for the material are apparent, and it was awesome to learn little tidbits like, for example, that a fire on the moon colony would be much worse than on Earth because of oxygen levels. I’d be curious to hear what scientists and engineers have to say about the story’s realism, but to this layperson at least, the things Weir says sound logical.

Also much like The Martian, Artemis is just plain fun! It’s a bit of a relief to have Jazz surrounded by such a large cast of characters — there’s room for a lot more to go on, for one thing, and a lot more personalities to bounce off of. There was also less of the loneliness and existential fear that persisted as an undercurrent through The Martian. There was a very real sense that Mark Watney could very well be doomed to die alone on the planet, despite all his best efforts to survive, and that just tugs at a very deep-seated fear in the heart of the reader. In contrast, while Jazz getting killed or exiled were both very real possibilities, these are more familiar — and dare I say, comfortable — risks to encounter, and certainly expected in a crime caper.

I also loved the diversity in the characters of Artemis. Jazz is from Saudi Arabia, her father is a devout Muslim, her pen pal / Earthly smuggling partner is Kenyan, the person who controls Artemis’ most powerful corporation is Latina, and there are cultural enclaves mentioned throughout.I’m almost looking forward to Hollywood taking on this project, if only because Weir’s very descriptions require the cast to be mostly persons of colour. I especially love that Kenya is the leader in the space industry, and the leader of Artemis is a Kenyan woman who single-handedly took advantage of other nations’ bickering to solve the world’s problems and lead the moon colony. There’s also a great scene where Jazz’s father creates a sloped apparatus that allows him to actually face Mecca when praying — the moon’s orbit doesn’t give Muslims on Artemis a direct view of Mecca, so they mostly just faced west, but with Jazz’s father’s invention, they could do their prayers in the traditionally proper way.

My main gripe with Artemis is that despite its kickass female protagonist, it still felt male-gaze-y, mostly in Jazz’s sense of humour, which is more like a teenage boy’s than a woman in her 20s. For example, while in a space suit, she takes a drink of water by biting a nipple and, in brackets, cracks, “try not to get excited.” In another scene, she changes into a space suit and suddenly realizes the security cameras are still on and her father and male friend Svoboda are watching. “Did you see me change?” she demands. Her father is embarrassed, Svoboda is gleeful and Jazz makes a wisecrack and moves on. There’s also a weird running joke about a specially designed condom Svoboda wants her to try out, and Jazz keeps rolling her eyes and telling him that no, she hasn’t had sex in the one or two days since he’s given her the condom. This sounds very much like a woman trying to fit in a man’s world, or more apt, a man trying to write a woman character. I can imagine women making these wisecracks to fit in with the men they work with, but always inwardly aware that they’re playing a role and making do; there is no such self-awareness in Jazz. Also, given how much Svoboda drools over her, I’m surprised such a strong, awesome woman as Jazz would ever be attracted to him — his lusting over her is pathetic horndog rather than adorably inept, somewhat like Big Bang Theory’s Howard Wolowitz without the self-confidence. Even a male fantasy can do better. (If there had to be a love interest, I was personally pulling for the Mountie or the Kenyan pen pal, both of whom were more compelling.)

Still, overall Artemis is a rollicking fun read, and despite a few cringe-worthy one-liners, Jazz is an awesome character. She starts off as a loveable Han Solo-esque smuggler who just wants to get rich quick and retire in luxury, but as we get to know her and the real reason she needs so much money so quickly, a much softer character emerges. Weir has built a fantastically complex, pulsing world in Artemis, and it was an utter delight to experience it through Jazz’s eyes.

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Thank you to Penguin Random House Canada for a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Winter Solstice, the final book in the Quinn family quartet, is Elin Hilderbrand at her best. Her novels have long been among my bookish summer staples — taking a day or two to dip into the sandy shores of Hilderbrand’s Nantucket is a delightful retreat during the warm summer months. I was late getting into her Winter series (I started in Book 3 of 4), but that in no way diminished the emotional impact of Winter Solstice’s bittersweet tone.

As the book begins, Quinn family patriarch Kelly has stopped his cancer treatments, and is living out the remainder of his days listening to Danielle Steele novels on his phone. (I love this detail. There’s a great line where Kelly considers reading all the classics he never made time for before, only to realize he really has no interest in ever reading Moby Dick, and Danielle Steele audiobooks are much more worth his time.) Youngest son Bart is home from being a prisoner in Afghanistan. I love how Hilderbrand portrays his PTSD, particularly his trauma over chicken (there’s a rather horrifying reason behind it), and I love how he unexpectedly falls in love. Kelly’s wife Mitzi has made the difficult decision to sell the inn, and makes the most of her time left with her husband by throwing one large family gathering after another. Youngest daughter Ava has to deal with her boyfriend Potter’s son hating her, and Potter himself being unable to connect with the boy. Kelly’s first wife Margaret decides to retire from her illustrious broadcasting career to spend more time with her family. Fast Eddie hits the jackpot with a newly wealthy couple looking to buy property — one of them potentially interested in the Quinn’s inn. And much like in the previous book Winter Storms, Kelly and Mitzi’s daughter-in-law Jennifer has one of my favourite storylines: here, she confronts her pill addiction and tries to forge a new career.

If Winter Storms was an uplifting, heartwarming holiday read, Winter Solstice is a bittersweet reminder that nothing lasts forever. Childhood homes get sold, people move on, and the Nantucket that has been your home for decades will be forever changed. It’s a lovely, moving final moment with the Quinns, and a fitting fond farewell to the characters who have grown so much, and forged such a bond with us, over the past few books.

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Thank you to Hachette Book Group Canada for an advance reading copy in exchange for an honest review.