Sacrament of Lies, book review

My latest read, Sacrament of Lies by Elizabeth Dewberry, was a random pick off the used-book shelf – well, not completely random. I found the premise appealing, as well as the setting, having lived several childhood years in New Orleans. The author, however, was new to me, and therefore a wild card.

Set against the lurid backdrop of Southern politics, the story opens when Grayson Guillory begins to suspect her father, Louisiana’s power-grabbing governor, of murdering her mother. What’s more, Grayson thinks her father’s chief speech writer, Carter – who happens to be her husband – helped cover it up. As she searches for clues to help her divine the truth, Grayson starts questioning her own sanity, and her marriage to Carter falters under the strain of suspicion.

From the opening pages, I was captured by the strength of Dewberry’s writing. She liberally laces her prose with symbolism that exists not for its own sake, but to allow deep dives into character. (“My foot had stopped bleeding, but I’d tracked it onto the carpet, each mark smaller and lighter than the one before, as if I’d gradually disappeared.”) She keeps character sketches sparse but keenly descriptive. (“She was wearing a cat T-shirt and a big pewter cat necklace on a string and slightly too much blush. She reminded me of hot chocolate with marshmallows.”) Her prose reveals her careful study of human nature. Even throwaway comments allow connection to Grayson, the first person narrator, in satisfying resonance. (“part of me missed that elusive comfort that comes when you look at your worn carpet and think, Someday we’ll replace that with a nicer color, and everything will be better.”)

Sacrament of Lies is a smart, fast-paced literary thriller. I swallowed it whole in practically one reading, leaving me sorry the ride was over but anticipating the pleasure of my next Elizabeth Dewberry novel.

The Color of Light, book review

Thirty-something Jillian Parrish, ripely pregnant and newly divorced, returns with her seven-year-old daughter, Grace, to South Carolina’s low country, where she hopes to reclaim the happiness she knew there as a child. Upon arrival, however, she finds not the peace she seeks, but haunting memories of her friend, Lauren, who mysteriously disappeared when they were teenagers. She also encounters enigmatic Linc Rising, Lauren’s boyfriend, who was a suspect in her disappearance sixteen years before. As old secrets come to light, Jillian and Linc uncover not only the truth about Lauren, but the feelings they’ve kept hidden for years.

The Color of Light by Karen White has all the makings of a great read: an intriguing setting, an original premise - equal parts love and ghost story – all woven together by an author I’ve enjoyed before. It also features a cast of characters that includes a ghost, a little girl with a sixth sense and an old soul, a cat named Spot (who believes he’s a dog) with an uncanny ability to see what humans cannot. With all this going for it, it should have been a page turner.

But I found the large chunks of flashback clunky, dragging down the narrative. And the characters’ fears and foibles seem imposed on them rather than organic; clothing they wear instead of the skin they live in.

I kept hoping this novel would deliver the same kind of literary magic that White’s The Memory of Water did, but in this I was disappointed. Despite its potential, The Color of Light missed the mark.

Blue Water, book review

Every so often I stumble on a new (to me) author whose writing is so resonant, I know I’ll be returning to him or her again and again. Such was the case with Anita Shreve, Anne Tyler, Jessica Barksdale Inclan, Ann Patchett, Karen White, Chris Bohjalian – and now A. Manette Ansay.


I knew nothing about Ansay when I picked up Blue Water. I knew only that the premise of her book intrigued me. It starts with an impossible agony: the death of Rex and Meg Van Dorn’s only child, six-year-old Evan, killed when Meg’s former best friend, Cindy Ann, slams drunkenly into their car. In the aftermath, the Van Dorns are shocked when Cindy Ann receives little more than a legal scolding. Enraged and grief-stricken, they buy a sailboat and head for Atlantic blue water, hoping to put as much distance as possible between themselves and Cindy Ann. But when, a year after Evan’s death, Meg returns for her brother’s wedding, she’s forced to confront the complex ties that will forever bind her to her onetime friend.

In Blue Water, Ansay creates original characters, both complicated and vibrant. She writes in clear, unadorned prose, and while she tells the story in Meg’s first person voice, she artfully plays with the narrative, stretching it to encompass Cindy Ann’s voice as well. All the while, she constructs a path that leads Meg to a choice: either life with her husband; or forgiveness that “would enable her, finally, fully, to survive.” The two cannot be had together; Meg must sacrifice one in order to claim the other. And though the ending doesn’t feel happy, it does feel right, and it leaves room for hope – a feat I can attribute only to the enviable skill of the writer.