Review: The Punch Escrow

2o Books of Summer: Book 7

The Punch Escrow by Tal M. Klein is another fun discovery via NetGalley. Summary from Goodreads:

It’s the year 2147. Advancements in nanotechnology have enabled us to control aging. We’ve genetically engineered mosquitoes to feast on carbon fumes instead of blood, ending air pollution. And teleportation has become the ideal mode of transportation, offered exclusively by International Transport—a secretive firm headquartered in New York City. Their slogan: Departure… Arrival… Delight!

Joel Byram, our smartass protagonist, is an everyday twenty-fifth century [sic] guy. He spends his days training artificial intelligence engines to act more human, jamming out to 1980s new wave—an extremely obscure genre[—]and trying to salvage his deteriorating marriage. Joel is pretty much an everyday guy with everyday problems—until he’s accidentally duplicated while teleporting.

Now Joel must outsmart the shadowy organization that controls teleportation, outrun the religious sect out to destroy it, and find a way to get back to the woman he loves in a world that now has two of him.

Even though I picked up The Punch Escrow for the teleportation mishaps, my favorite parts of the book were in the details: Joel’s day-job as a “salter” and the various types of AI. Salting:

Every choice [computers] came to could only be based on data and algorithms that had been preprogrammed into them. That’s not to say computers couldn’t get new ideas, but every new idea they got could only come from remixing old ideas, or external input from other computers, or through human input—which is where I came in.

We salters spent our days coming up with arbitrary puzzles that AI engines couldn’t grok. Every time a salter’s gambit was not anticipated by an app, that app got smarter by adding the unanticipated random logic set to its decision algorithm, and the salter got paid. Essentially, I made my living by being a smartass to apps. (Loc 229)

The sassy, back-talking computer is a staple of sci-fi (especially sci-fi that tries to be funny), but it feels more gimmicky than real. The Punch Escrow takes a cleverer approach by showing Joel outsmart apps to teach them nuances of language such as double entendres and humor. Seeing various types of AI (rooms, vehicles, personal assistants) analyze Joel’s requests and wordplay is satisfying. Each responds in its own way according to its programming and function. There is more thought and care in these scenes than I expected from the outset. From the blurb, I worried the book would verge on silly/slapdash as Joel ran around cracking one-liners. Instead, the salting scenes occur naturally as Joel struggles to return to his wife.

Self-described “smartass” characters can either be fun or prompt much eye-rolling. Smartassery is something that must be conveyed through a character’s dialogue and actions; as soon as a first-person narrator describes him/herself as smart, witty, or clever they aren’t. Joel’s braggy nature brings him close to this line, but he became more self-aware just as he approached my last nerve. Once there’s a second Joel running around (“Joel²”), Joel evaluates some of his own personality traits the way an outsider might and draws the same conclusions as the reader. In these self-aware moments, he reminisces about his wife. Given that Joel’s internal monologue carries the book (and there are two of him), other characters drift to the background. Joel’s musings on Sylvia keep her around and develop her character despite her limited screentime. Joel’s overall goal is to find her, and this isn’t a compelling quest unless the reader invests in their relationship.

Some of the early reviews play up the “hard sci-fi” angle, and while The Punch Escrow certainly qualifies as such, it’s not as technical as you might think. Complicated explanations are filtered through Joel’s no-nonsense style, and his analogies make the connections between the science and plot simple to follow. Klein strikes a good balance: there’s enough science to legitimize the story, but not so much that Joel stoops to lecturing. There are philosophical and ethical dilemmas sprinkled throughout, too. Alas, my anti-spoilers policy…

But wait, there’s a tiny nitpick about Joel’s musical tastes:

I’m not a fan of the 1980s nostalgia in futuristic books. It makes sense, intellectually, because there are plenty of people who listen to centuries-old music. There’s a push-pull created when using the 1980s, though. It’s nice to hum along with the character, but 1980s music prompts images of giant boom boxes and bright clothing which clash against sleek, futuristic worlds. I’m not sure why the 1980s stand out in this way; if a character listens to Mozart, I don’t imagine them in a powdered wig. I suspect my knee-jerk revulsion to 1980s tunes in sci-fi is because of Ready Player One and its lists, lists, and more lists of 1980s cultural references. (Btw, I’m timing a SBIRIFY post to coincide with Ready Player One‘s release…) At least Joel limits his 1980s love to a few songs.

Overall: 4.4  There is one minor issue that might be a plot hole, but I’ve got my fingers crossed it’ll be handled in the other books (a sequel and prequel). (If not, you’ll hear about it then.) The climax is a bit formulaic, but it’ll play well if The Punch Escrow is made into a movie. Quick note on formatting: I’d recommend a print copy over an ebook due to the number/length of the footnotes. Personally, I find it easier to flip around a paper copy than an ebook.

Translation: Read it.

NB: This book was provided for review by the publisher, Inkshares Geek & Sundry (via NetGalley).
Image Credit: Goodreads

 

13 to go!

  1. All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr
  2. The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls
  3. Girl with a Pearl Earring by Tracy Chevalier
  4. Hungry Hill by Daphne du Maurier
  5. My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante
  6. Norse Mythology by Neil Gaiman
  7. Roverandom by J.R.R. Tolkien
  8. The Shape of Water by Andrea Camilleri
  9. Sleep Donation by Karen Russell
  10. Stone Mattress by Margaret Atwood
  11. The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway
  12. A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan
  13. White Teeth by Zadie Smith

Previously On:

  1. The Moving Finger by Agatha Christie
  2. A Darker Shade of Magic by V.E. Schwab
  3. Breathing Lessons by Anne Tyler
  4. She by H. Rider Haggard
  5. Dead Wake by Erik Larson
  6. The Intuitionist by Colson Whitehead

Review: The Intuitionist

20 Books of Summer: Book 6

The winner in the Most Unique Book of the Summer (so far) category is Colson Whitehead’s The Intuitionist. (There’s no prize, of course, unless you count this review.) I’d be lying if I said I understood every word/reference/theme of this book. The Intuitionist is deeply strange with glimmers of Pynchon, but Whitehead is cleverer and more entertaining. I’ve borrowed the Goodreads blurb because it’s hard to summarize a book that’s [mystery] + [philosophical treatise on elevator maintenance] + [noir thriller (maybe)] +[social commentary] + [???].

Verticality, architectural and social, is the lofty idea at the heart of Colson Whitehead’s first novel that takes place in an unnamed high-rise city that combines 21st-century engineering feats with 19th-century pork-barrel politics. Elevators are the technological expression of the vertical ideal, and Lila Mae Watson, the city’s first black female elevator inspector, is its embattled token of upward mobility.

When Number Eleven of the newly completed Fanny Briggs Memorial Building goes into deadly free-fall just hours after Lila Mae has signed off on it, using the controversial “Intuitionist” method of ascertaining elevator safety, both Intuitionists and Empiricists recognize the set-up, but may be willing to let Lila Mae take the fall in an election year.

As Lila Mae strives to exonerate herself in this urgent adventure full of government spies, underworld hit men, and seductive double agents, behind the action, always, is the Idea. Lila Mae’s quest is mysteriously entwined with existence of heretofore lost writings by James Fulton, father of Intuitionism, a giant of vertical thought. If she is able to find and reveal his plan for the perfect, next-generation elevator, the city as it now exists may instantly become obsolescent.

The premise is silly at first because it’s hard to see how Intuitionism ever gained traction. If I owned a building and had a choice between two elevator inspectors, I wouldn’t pick the one who stood in the elevator and had feelings about its mechanical fitness. Amid my chuckling, though, the story won me over. It’s not really about the elevators and, when it is, it’s more interesting than it should be. Whitehead peppers the book with oddball trivia and a nuanced look at a world where the schools for elevator maintenance spend as much time on philosophy as mechanics.

Each detail is carefully considered, right down to the screwdrivers, the only tool needed by an Intuitionist:

For the new screwdrivers were quite beautiful. Ever since the city granted license to the Department, bulky and ungainly screwdrivers had poked and bulged in the jacket pockets of the elevator inspectors, completely ruining any attempts at dapperness and savoir faire. It’s difficult to look official and imposing while listing to one side. The new screwdrivers have mother-of-pearl handles and heads the exact width of an inspection-plate screw. They fold out like jackknives and lend themselves to baroque fantasies about spies and secret missions. (13)

Secret missions to save elevators? And yet, this book makes that tangible. The Intuitionist is so unique in both subject and tone that the only writer that comes to mind for comparison is Thomas Pynchon, or maybe Michael Chabon. For the record, I don’t enjoy Pynchon or Chabon and rarely finish their books (have no idea why I keep picking them up). Both writers excel with witty one-liners, but punctuate them with long tangents and asides that almost (but not quite) remove you from the story. At times, The Intuitionist wandered a bit far for the sake of an interesting image or clever point, but Colson always manages to pull the story back on track—something Pynchon and Chabon struggle to do.

It helps that there’s a mystery and quest to keep the story moving on a linear track—the quest for the perfect elevator:

“If we have decided that elevator studies—nuts and bolts Empiricism—imagined elevators from a human, and therefore inherently alien, point of view, wouldn’t the next logical step, after we’ve adopted the Intuitionist perspective, be to build an elevator the right way? With what we’ve learned?”
“Construct an elevator from the elevator’s point of view?”
“Wouldn’t that be the perfect elevator? Wouldn’t that be the black box?” (62-63)

There’s a lot of social commentary built around this, primarily on U.S. race relations. As Lila Mae is the first black female elevator inspector, she’s mocked and underestimated by her peers. I like books with social commentary, but I like them best when the social commentary doesn’t come at the expense of the plot and surface characters. With elevators as a base layer, I was nervous when picking up the book—you can’t assume an elevator-based plot will be convincing or interesting.

This review is vague, but I’d rather keep it that way given how many of the story’s twists and details surprised me. At times, I wanted the writing to tighten up, but many passages were beautifully or cleverly written and I didn’t resent the time spent away from the main story. Some sidebars about elevator maintenance were confusing at first; I couldn’t see how they fit into the story, but reading about Lila Mae’s studies and work ethic defined her character. She’s smart and competent and she legitimizes the story when it starts to get weird. If anyone can intuit an elevator’s fitness by riding in it, it’s Lila Mae.

I picked up this book because I wanted to read The Underground Railroad but don’t like finding an author via their latest book. The Intuitionist was Whitehead’s first book. I look forward to reading his others and seeing him develop as a writer.

Overall: 4.7  Sometimes the pretty writing threatened to wander too far afield, but the story was otherwise tight and often fun, despite a few dark turns. The level of detail devoted to the development of elevator philosophy contained excellent world building. The social commentary was insightful and poignant.

Translation: Read it.

 

14 to go! with some amendments…

Neil Gaiman’s Norse Mythology has replaced Kazuo Ishiguro’s The Buried Giant. The Punch Escrow by Tal M. Klein has replaced Red Mars by Kim Stanley Robinson. Sleep Donation by Karen Russell has snagged the TBD slot. Warning: The Sleep Donation review may be a rant—it’s coming in with a 1.5 and there hasn’t been a 1.5 on this site since The First Fifteen Lives of Harry August.

  1. All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr
  2. The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls
  3. Girl with a Pearl Earring by Tracy Chevalier
  4. Hungry Hill by Daphne du Maurier
  5. My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante
  6. Norse Mythology by Neil Gaiman
  7. The Punch Escrow by Tal M. Klein
  8. Roverandom by J.R.R. Tolkien
  9. The Shape of Water by Andrea Camilleri
  10. Sleep Donation by Karen Russell
  11. Stone Mattress by Margaret Atwood
  12. The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway
  13. A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan
  14. White Teeth by Zadie Smith

Previously On:

  1. The Moving Finger by Agatha Christie
  2. A Darker Shade of Magic by V.E. Schwab
  3. Breathing Lessons by Anne Tyler
  4. She by H. Rider Haggard
  5. Dead Wake by Erik Larson

Review: Dead Wake – The Last Crossing of the Lusitania

20 Books of Summer 2017: Book 5

I’ve started Erik Larson’s The Devil in the White City twice and have yet to finish it. Devil in the White City tackles two stories simultaneously: the 1893 World’s Fair and the grisly murders of Dr. H.H. Holmes. The World’s Fair story is far more interesting than the other (surprisingly) so the back-and-forth is tedious. In Dead Wake: The Last Crossing of the Lusitania, Larson is focussed—all tangents, overviews, and factoids lead back to the Lusitania.

To his credit, Larson understands that nothing in history occurs in a vacuum. He frames the Lusitania’s construction and a biography of her captain within the naval advancements and attitudes of the era. He further chronicles the rise and changing purpose of the German U-Boats and provides an outline of World War I. As much attention is given to U-20, the submarine that sinks the Lusitania, as to the Lusitania itself. At times, though, Larson’s inclination to start each angle of the story ‘at the beginning’ leads him to include too much (the long passages concerning Wilson’s courtship of Edith Galt come to mind). The first half of the book sets the stage and the second moves at a frenetic pace, digging deep into politics, the war, and the events of May 7, 1915.

Larson makes a valiant effort to give a sense of the passengers on board the Lusitania. Some are vividly written, described by their own letters and a variety of biographical details. Others are only sketches, described by their height, profession, suit color, or contents of their luggage. The sense is that Larson has included every fragment of his research, no matter how fragmentary. I’d rather fewer passengers be described in greater depth than more with scant details. Some are seemingly mentioned only for bleak, observational humor:

There were parents sailing to rejoin their children, and children to rejoin their parents, and wives and fathers hoping to get back to their own families, as was the case with Mrs. Arthur Luck of Worcester, Massachusetts, traveling with her two sons, Kenneth Luck and Elbridge Luck, ages eight and nine, to rejoin her husband, a mining engineer who awaited them in England. Why in the midst of great events there always seems to be a family so misnamed is one of the imponderables of history. (97)

No matter how cursory, though, the book needs these humanizing elements. Without them, Dead Wake would be a slew of details and dates unconnected from what made the sinking of the Lusitania so unexpected and tragic: It was a passenger ship full of common, relatable people. Larson establishes that attacks against passenger ships were inconceivable at the time. Even the crews of merchant ships could expect a measure of safety:

Obeyed ever since by all seagoing powers, the rules held that a warship could stop a merchant vessel and search it but had to keep its crew safe and bring the ship to a nearby port, where a “prize court” would determine its fate. The rules forbade attacks against passenger vessels. (31)

You can see where submarines will cause a wrinkle—they carry too few men to seize a ship and they can’t take on additional passengers. Even so, “The use of submarines to attack unarmed merchant ships without warning, [Churchill] wrote, would be ‘abhorrent to the immemorial law and practice of the sea.'” (31) But passenger ships remained a separate issue, held more inviolate than merchant ships. Though German threats to the Lusitania were published the morning she set sail, few passengers lost sleep over them. They believed the Lusitania was too fast and would be well-protected as she approached Liverpool, but in reality they were traveling at reduced speed and without a convoy.

The sense of dread throughout as U-20 approaches the Lusitania is more intense than in any other book that comes to mind. It only intensifies when the reader remembers Dead Wake is non-fiction. With short chapters, Larson switches between the Lusitania’s story and the movements of U-20, drawing the two ships closer and closer. U-20’s narrative is packed with submarine trivia and anecdotes; it’s claustrophobic and fascinating at first, but horrifying by the end.

Where Larson’s reseach into personal correspondence and details shines is in developing Captains Turner (Lusitania) and Schwieger (U-20). The latter is introduced in a chapter called “The Happiest U-Boat” and seems normal, astonishingly so. By all accounts he was a good leader, trusted by his men, and responsible for a positive and productive tone on U-20. I confess that I expected a cartoonish villian as the antagonist, but Larson’s insistence on making Schwieger a person at the outset made me question why and how someone so seemingly normal could sink a passenger ship, wartime or not. There’s no answer, which adds to the unsettling tone of the book.

Larson’s writing feels fictional with its colorful use of conversation and dialogue. Like his other books, “anything between quotation marks comes from a memoir, letter, telegram, or other historical document.” (xix) His writing makes history feel both close and far away—close, because of the intense detail; far, because it’s easy to mistake this book for fiction in its most engaging moments. Having WWI ever-present in the background grounds the story, but adds to the sense of despair:

Each side had been confident of a victory within months, but by the end of 1914 the war had turned into a macabre stalemate marked by battles in which tens of thousands of men died and neither side gained ground. The first of the great named battles were fought that autumn and winter—the Frontiers, Mons, Marne, and the First Battle of Ypres. By the end of November, after four months of fighting, the French army had suffered 306,000 fatalities, roughly equivalent to the 1910 population of Washington, D.C. The German toll was 241,000. By year’s end a line of parallel trenches, constituting the western front, ran nearly five hundred miles from the North Sea to Switzerland, separated in places by a no-man’s-land of as little as 25 yards. (28)

Overall: 4.8  I can’t name a more intense book. I feel a pang of guilt for “enjoying” Dead Wake given its tragic subject matter, which makes me wonder if the pacing is gratuitous. Larson revels in the “what ifs” and does everything possible to mine tension. I don’t think this undercuts the book’s veracity (it’s plainly well-researched), but there’s no denying it was written with an eye toward entertainment value.

Translation: Read it.

 

20 Books of Summer 2017 hosted by Cathy at 746 Books

15 to go!

  1. All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr
  2. The Buried Giant by Kazuo Ishiguro
  3. The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls
  4. Girl with a Pearl Earring by Tracy Chevalier
  5. Hungry Hill by Daphne du Maurier
  6. The Intuitionist by Colson Whitehead
  7. My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante
  8. Red Mars by Kim Stanley Robinson
  9. Roverandom by J.R.R. Tolkien
  10. The Shape of Water by Andrea Camilleri
  11. Stone Mattress by Margaret Atwood
  12. The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway
  13. A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan
  14. White Teeth by Zadie Smith
  15. ??? (To Be Determined)

Previously On:

  1. The Moving Finger by Agatha Christie
  2. A Darker Shade of Magic by V.E. Schwab
  3. Breathing Lessons by Anne Tyler
  4. She by H. Rider Haggard

Review: She

20 Books of Summer 2017: Book 4

I first read She for a British Imperial Lit course when my workload didn’t allow a leisurely pace. The professor was especially keen on well-used/integrated quotes so my first time through this book was a mad rush for themes and quotables. Fortunately, imperialist themes are easy to pick out…

Writing ‘at white heat’, and in the flush of success after the publication of King Solomon’s Mines, Haggard drew again on his knowledge of Africa and of ancient legends, but also on something deeper and more disturbing. To the Englishmen who journey through shipwreck, fever, and cannibals to her hidden realm, She is the goal of a quest bequeathed to them two thousand years before; to Haggard’s readers, She is the embodiment of one of the most potent and ambivalent figures of Western mythology, a female who is both monstrous and desirable—and, without question, deadlier than the male! (back cover of the Oxford World Classics edition)

Some passages in She are very dated, but I don’t expect a book from 1887 to reflect modern sensitivities. That said, I first read She after Conrad’s Lord Jim so it seemed downright progressive by comparison. Haggard has far less talk about the ‘natural superiority’ of British men and She-who-must-be-obeyed (a.k.a. Ayesha) easily winds Leo and Holly, two Victorian gents, around her little finger.

Like all good adventure stories, She follows the fulfillment of a millennia-old quest. Leo, a handsome and learned young man, inherits an iron chest and potsherd that outlines an improbable story written by an Egyptian woman, Amenartas. The story goes that Amenartas was fleeing Egypt with her husband, Kallikrates, when they encountered Ayesha, who wanted Kallikrates for her own. When he rejected her offer of power, immortality, and “love,” she killed him. According to the sherd and its accompanying history, Leo is a direct descendent of Kallikrates and must kill Ayesha to avenge his forebear.

Along with his mentor/father-figure, Holly, Leo decides to follow the path laid out by the relic. They travel to Africa and encounter a cannibalistic tribe. While under attack, they’re saved on the orders of She-who-must-be-obeyed, but not everyone obeys her order to immediately release Leo and his companions. Accompanying Ayesha’s grand entrance is her pronouncement of death upon everyone who failed to heed her command the instant it was issued. Holly entreats her to be merciful, but she explains:

“Were I to show mercy to those wolves, your lives would not be safe among this people for a day. Thou knowest them not. They are tigers to lap blood, and even now they hunger for your lives. How thinkest thou that I rule this people? I have but a regiment of guards to do my bidding, therefore it is not by force. It is by terror. My empire is of the imagination. Once in a generation mayhap I do as I have done but now, and slay a score by torture. Believe not that I would be cruel, or take vengeance on anything so low. What can it profit me to be avenged on such as these? Those who live long, my Holly, have no passions save where they have interests. Though I may seem to slay in wrath all because my mood is crossed, it is not so. Thou hast seen how in the heavens the little clouds blow this way and that without a cause, yet behind them is the great wind sweeping on its path whither it listeth. So it is with me, oh Holly. My moods and changes are the little clouds, and fitfully these seem to turn; but behind them ever blows the great wind of my purpose.” (161)

Unfortunately (or perhaps not, in terms of entertainment value), Ayesha isn’t quite how she presents herself here. In this snippet, she seems to be a grand creature existing on a higher plane. She sees the big picture and can’t concern herself with trifling humans. But, the more time Holly spends with her, he finds that she’s vain and petty. In Leo’s presence, she further downgrades to a squirming schoolgirl with a crush. And the contrast is fantastic! Haggard balances Ayesha between two stages of development: on one hand, she has spent millennia contemplating philosophy, beauty, and language; on the other, she has spent 2,000 years in a cave and her social skills are non-existent.

In Ayesha’s flightier moments, Holly bemoans the weakness of her sex (it doesn’t help that he doesn’t get on well with the ladies back home). There’s low-key sexism at work, but other than her womanish vices, there’s little about Ayesha that’s human. Her long life and departure from social mores means that she acts according to her whims; she’s uninterested in kindness, traditional morality, or the concerns of mortals. So while her connections to humanity are through girlish stereotypes, these flashes of relatability are necessary. Somehow, the first analogy to mind is the way people get very excited when big cats act like house cats. There’s less fear or being mauled when you’re looking at big cat in a box and thinking: “Aww, just like my little cat at home!” When Holly looks at the more human side of Ayesha, he’s less frightened of her for a moment.

Throughout the book, Ayesha consistently has the upper hand. Holly and Leo are reduced to inane babbling in the face of her insurmountable beauty. At times, their compliance to her plans and goals feels overdone. Possible counterargument: Ayesha appears to engage in minor mind control since their affections for her wax and wane according to her wants.

Perhaps my favorite part of the story, however, is when Ayesha leads Holly through a massive network of caves and catacombs of a lost people. These people had the power to preserve their dead exactly as they looked in life. Holly and Ayesha tour long, twisting caves and vast antechambers, musing on the faces of the dead and the tragic end of the city. Their tour culminates with a suitably eerie scene which Haggard pulls off to great effect.

Haggard’s prose is smooth and easy to read. The antequated speech between Holly and Ayesha (“thou seest,” etc.) is a constant reminder that she’s from another age. They converse frequently in Arabic, though she offers to speak in Latin, Greek, or Hebrew (ancient forms of each). It’s not until Ayesha shows some interest in the modern world that Holly and Leo show a flash of fear—Ayesha thinks the Queen of England can be toppled! Oh, to be writing a paper on this book again…

Overall: 4.5  She moves quickly and reads so smoothly that it feels modern at times. The pacing is excellent, building to a fever pitch by the end. The story is strange, as you can already tell, but it’s absorbing. How will Leo and Holly deal with Ayesha when they’re utterly powerless in the face of her beauty??

Translation: Read it.

20 Books of Summer 2017 hosted by Cathy at 746 Books

16 to go!

  1. All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr
  2. The Buried Giant by Kazuo Ishiguro
  3. Dead Wake by Erik Larson
  4. The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls
  5. Girl with a Pearl Earring by Tracy Chevalier
  6. Hungry Hill by Daphne du Maurier
  7. The Intuitionist by Colson Whitehead
  8. My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante
  9. Red Mars by Kim Stanley Robinson
  10. Roverandom by J.R.R. Tolkien
  11. The Shape of Water by Andrea Camilleri
  12. Stone Mattress by Margaret Atwood
  13. The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway
  14. A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan
  15. White Teeth by Zadie Smith
  16. ??? (To Be Determined)

Previously On:

  1. The Moving Finger by Agatha Christie
  2. A Darker Shade of Magic by V.E. Schwab
  3. Breathing Lessons by Anne Tyler