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On A Sundown Sea: A Novel of Madame Tingley and the Origins of Lomaland
When I first closed the final page of On a Sundown Sea, I sat with the feeling that I had been walking alongside Katherine Tingley, a woman caught between the raw struggles of the 19th century and her own restless visions of something more. The novel takes us through New York’s crowded tenements, the snowbound Great Blizzard of 1888, and finally into the swirl of spiritualism, social reform, and theosophy that defined her life. It is a story of Katherine’s yearning for justice, for connection, and for the dream of a golden city by the sea where harmony might prevail.
What struck me first about this book was how alive the writing felt. The historical detail pulled me in, yet it never read like a lecture. The voices of the poor at the mission, the creak of an empty bread cart, even the sound of a baby crying outside in the cold stayed with me. I admired the way author Jill G. Hall let Katherine be complicated, fierce and brave, but also vulnerable, flawed, and often unsure. The visions Katherine experiences could have been written as distant or mystical, but instead they felt immediate and human, even tender. I could sense her exhaustion, her longing to believe they meant something.
There were moments when the pacing slowed, especially when the story lingered on Philo’s inventions or the details of household frustrations. I found myself wanting to move back to Katherine’s work at the mission or her encounters with William Q. Judge, which carried a spark. Yet in a strange way, even these slower stretches made me feel more connected to Katherine, because life itself rarely moves in clean arcs of drama. It’s messy, filled with distractions, petty disappointments, and small betrayals, and the novel captured that truth.
I came away deeply moved by Katherine’s journey. Her search for meaning felt familiar to me, and I imagine it will resonate with many others who’ve ever wondered if they were meant for more than the roles life handed them. I would recommend On a Sundown Sea to readers who enjoy historical fiction rooted in real social movements, but also to anyone who loves a story about resilience and the desire to build a better world. It is a thoughtful, heartfelt novel, and though it is set in the past, it left me thinking about the present in fresh ways.
Pages: 384 | ASIN : B0DV6T8P8M
The Right Time: Back to the 80s
The Right Time is a time-slip romance that follows Andie, a woman trying to escape an abusive marriage by starting over in an unexpected way, nearly fifty years earlier, in the 1980s. She finds herself grappling with heartbreak, survival, and the strange blessing of a second chance. The book weaves together themes of self-discovery, nostalgia, and the longing for safety and love, all wrapped in a blend of magical realism and women’s fiction.
The writing pulled me in right away. Gibson writes with a straightforward style that’s easy to sink into, yet she layers in emotion without ever making it feel heavy-handed. I found myself rooting for Andie almost instantly. Her struggles felt raw, sometimes painfully so, but that’s what made the story stick. There were moments that made me angry at the unfairness of her situation, then others that made me smile with relief when she carved out a sliver of peace for herself. The details of the 80s setting added charm, but they never overshadowed the deeper story, which is what really mattered.
I felt the pacing meandered, lingering on small domestic details, but oddly enough, I didn’t mind. Those slower scenes gave the book a lived-in feel, almost like watching someone rebuild their life one messy, ordinary moment at a time. The romance element had a soft touch. It wasn’t all swoon and sparks, but more about the ache of possibility, of whether Andie could trust herself again. That restraint worked for me. It felt authentic, not like a fairy tale.
By the end, I closed the book with a sense of satisfaction. It’s not flashy or grand, but it’s heartfelt. I’d recommend The Right Time to readers who enjoy character-driven stories, especially fans of women’s fiction with a hint of magic. If you’ve ever wondered about do-overs or if you simply love a slow-burn story rooted in courage and hope, this book will speak to you.
Pages: 348 | ASIN: B0FQWHNG2S
Fifty Shades of True Crime
Fifty Shades of True Crime is a wild ride through the strangest and darkest corners of human behavior. Author Douglas Fifer, a former Alaskan cop, strings together story after story of crimes soaked in sex, kink, and shocking perversity. From bestiality cases in small towns to necrophilia, from bizarre arrests involving vegetables to chilling encounters with killers, the book leans on real-life cases to show just how messy and twisted desire can be. It’s told with a mix of dark humor and blunt honesty, which makes it both grotesque and oddly entertaining.
At times, I laughed, mostly at Fifer’s cop-gallows humor and his no-nonsense storytelling. Then a few pages later, I felt queasy. The stories don’t hold back, and the details are unflinching. His style is raw, sometimes crude, yet always conversational. It felt less like I was reading a book and more like I was being told insane stories by a cop who had seen too much but knew how to keep you hooked. I appreciated how he threaded in questions about morality and kink, forcing me to reflect on where the line between fantasy and crime really lies.
I also found myself admiring his honesty. He doesn’t try to sanitize the brutality of human desire or the failures of the legal system. Instead, he puts it all out there, and whether you’re disgusted, amused, or both, you can’t look away. One story that stuck with me was the “Cool as a Cucumber” case. A drunk driver in Anchorage not only crashed his minivan but was also discovered with a massive cucumber, wrapped in plastic, stuck inside him. The image is outrageous and grotesque, yet Fifer tells it with such dark humor that I couldn’t help but laugh and cringe at the same time.
I’d recommend Fifty Shades of True Crime to readers who like their true crime with a heavy dose of shock and unfiltered storytelling. If you want a book that dares to blend the outrageous with the horrifying, and if you can handle humor in the middle of horror, this book will grip you from start to finish.
Pages: 229 | ASIN : B0D7X1SDFC
Tequila
Tequila follows generations of the Ramirez family, from Sotero’s gamble on aging tequila in the 1950s Jaliscan Highlands to the modern corporate empire known as RAM Industries. What begins as a tale of sweat, soil, and ambition slowly becomes a saga of family betrayal, violence, and power. Across decades, we watch tequila move from rustic distilleries into the bloodstream of global trade, all while the Ramirez family wrestles with love, greed, and blood feuds that never seem to fade. It is a story that swings between passion and brutality, family devotion and ruthless ambition.
I admired the way author Tim Reuben captures place, especially the Mexican highlands where Sotero’s first plants take root. Those early chapters breathe with heat and dust, the struggle of a farmer dreaming big. Then, almost suddenly, the narrative shifts to boardrooms and courtrooms, and it struck me how ambition hardens with each generation. I found myself both hooked and unsettled. The violence was raw, sometimes shocking, yet it felt earned, a natural extension of the world Reuben built.
The writing itself is quick, sharp, and often cinematic. The dialogue snaps, the scenes cut hard, and there is little handholding. I enjoyed that rhythm because it gave the book urgency. But I also caught myself wishing for pauses, more room to breathe, especially when the story moved into modern-day plots with kidnappings, corporate lawyers, and family infighting. Still, I admired the boldness. Reuben doesn’t play it safe. He tells a story that spills over with energy, grit, and heat.
I’d recommend Tequila to readers who enjoy family sagas laced with crime, corporate drama, and old-world passion. Tequila felt like a mix of The Godfather’s family drama, the cutthroat energy of Succession, and the grit of Narcos, all poured together into one fiery shot of a story.
Pages: 407 | ASIN : B0FDH5FYHM
A Dangerous Friendship
Robin Merle’s A Dangerous Friendship tells the story of Tina, a woman navigating heartbreak, loneliness, and the lure of risk, who is drawn into a powerful and consuming relationship with Spike, a magnetic yet volatile woman whose energy feels both liberating and destructive. The book unfolds as a mix of confession, memory, and cautionary tale, with Tina’s voice pulling readers through the strange encounters, reckless adventures, and raw emotions that define her search for meaning and connection. At its heart, the novel explores how desire, loss, and self-deception intertwine when we reach for love in places that might destroy us.
The writing is sharp, sometimes even intoxicating, as if the sentences themselves were alive with the same restless energy that fuels Spike. There were moments I felt swept along by the chaos, unable to look away even when the scenes grew uncomfortable or unnerving. The style often felt conversational, almost like overhearing someone at a bar late at night telling you the truth they hadn’t meant to say out loud. That rawness worked for me. It made me trust the voice even when I knew the choices being described were dangerous or misguided. Still, there were times when the sheer intensity wore me down. I caught myself needing a pause, needing to breathe, because the book doesn’t really let you step away from the emotional heat. That relentlessness is its strength, though.
I kept coming back to the theme of how easily people mistake chaos for passion, or instability for depth. Spike is fascinating because she’s equal parts irresistible and terrifying. I understood Tina’s attraction to her. Who doesn’t want to be pulled into someone’s orbit when they seem larger than life, when they make you feel braver than you are? Yet I also felt a knot in my stomach, knowing where such relationships might lead. The book never pretends that this friendship is healthy, and I liked that honesty. It made me think about the kinds of people we let in when we’re at our most fragile, and how often the need to feel alive can push us right to the edge of destruction.
A Dangerous Friendship left me unsettled in the best way. It’s not a comforting read, but it is a truthful one. I’d recommend it to readers who enjoy stories about flawed characters, messy emotions, and the dangerous beauty of being swept up in someone else’s storm. If you’re drawn to novels that explore obsession, betrayal, and the thin line between love and ruin, this one will keep you turning pages.
Pages: 311 | ASIN : B0DWYJWSBF
Should Have Told You Sooner
Should Have Told You Sooner is a layered story about family secrets, fractured love, and the tug-of-war between past choices and present consequences. At its heart is Noel, a museum professional navigating divorce, motherhood, and a career-defining opportunity abroad. Interwoven with her journey are letters from a boy in Leeds who slowly learns the truth about his adoption. The alternating voices expose the pain of what is spoken too late and what is left unsaid altogether. It’s a book that ties personal identity to memory, regret, and the relentless need for truth, while reminding us that silence in families can echo across decades.
I found myself swept up in Noel’s storyline most of all. She is flawed and frustrating, yet deeply human. Her desire to claim her career while holding onto her stepdaughter felt messy and real. The scenes with Alice carried such emotional weight that I felt the sting of rejection right alongside Noel. At the same time, I felt anger at her evasiveness. The title fits perfectly, so much of the pain in the book comes from words that were never said out loud until far too late. Ward’s writing style is sharp but also tender, with a knack for making small domestic details shimmer with meaning. Sometimes the prose slowed down with repetition, yet I rarely minded because it mirrored the weight of memory and hesitation.
What lingered with me most, though, was the emotional thread of the boy’s letters. His innocent hope and later confusion as he uncovered his past had a rawness that pulled at me. Those chapters broke up Noel’s present-day turmoil in a way that heightened both storylines. I found myself wanting to protect him, while also feeling frustrated at the adults around him who thought hiding the truth would shield him from pain. That mix of sadness and frustration stayed with me even after I finished the book.
Should Have Told You Sooner is a moving exploration of the cost of silence and the bravery it takes to speak truths we’ve buried. I would recommend this book to readers who enjoy contemporary fiction about family, adoption, and second chances. It will especially resonate with anyone who has felt the weight of secrets in their own family or who has struggled to balance personal ambition with love and responsibility.
Pages: 256 | ASIN : B0FDBLX3BD
Finley’s Song
From the first page, Finley’s Song drew me into a story that mixes music, grief, and the stubborn hope that follows loss. At its heart, the book tells the story of Finley, a pianist whose husband dies in a sudden accident, leaving her to raise their son, Max, while stumbling through her own guilt and despair. The novel moves between their shared silence at home, their escape to Paris, and the healing they cautiously piece together through new connections, old memories, and the enduring pull of music. I liked how much this is not just Finley’s story but Max’s too, a portrait of a mother and son mourning in parallel yet trying to keep each other afloat.
The writing had me hooked and sometimes unsettled in the best way. Kathryn Mattingly paints grief with raw strokes, never dressing it up, never trying to make it neat. Some passages felt like a gut punch, especially when Finley blames herself for Simon’s death. The guilt is heavy, almost suffocating, and I could feel the weight of it. But then there are these glimmers, moments with Max by the river, or Finley staring at the Eiffel Tower, that break through like sunlight. I found myself both aching and rooting for them, wanting them to reach those fragile pockets of beauty again. The language isn’t flowery for the sake of it. It’s direct yet tender, and it left me pausing more than once just to sit with the feeling it stirred.
Sometimes Finley’s voice frustrated me. Her self-blame circles back so often that I caught myself whispering “let yourself breathe.” Yet, that honesty made her real. People stuck in grief do repeat themselves, and the author didn’t shy away from that truth. I also found Max’s perspective refreshing and painfully accurate. His teenage awkwardness, his longing for his father, his quiet way of observing the world, they rang true. If anything, his sections gave the book a balance it needed, grounding Finley’s spiraling thoughts with the bluntness of youth. That duality is what made the story so enjoyable for me.
Finley’s Song is filled with small, luminous moments that feel earned. I’d recommend it to anyone who wants to read about loss in a way that doesn’t smooth the edges but instead embraces the messiness of it. Fans of books like Little Fires Everywhere or Where the Crawdads Sing will find a similar mix of emotional depth and vivid sense of place, but Finley’s Song feels more personal and raw, like a private journal you’ve been allowed to read.
Pages: 226 | ISBN : 978-1952909344
The Tao of the Thirteenth God
Robin C. Rickards delivers a paranormal thriller that dives into ritual, belief, and the shadows of human obsession. The Tao of the Thirteenth God follows multiple characters whose paths cross in the wake of strange cult activity, mass suicides, and unsettling visions that blur the line between spiritual yearning and human cruelty. From the first harrowing scene with Amadeus, the troubled seeker, to the storm-battered honeymooners Jack and Alice, and then the grizzled investigator Grantham Savoie with his reluctant partner Dr. Angelica Pali, the story paints a chilling portrait of desperation, mystery, and the cost of pursuing forbidden knowledge.
The opening chapters had this visceral punch, and I found myself hooked by the grit. The style feels unfiltered, raw, almost feverish, and that worked for me because the subject matter itself is so chaotic. At the same time, there were moments where I felt the prose leaned heavily, almost indulgent, and I had to slow myself down. But then a storm or a vision or a horrifying discovery would jolt me back, and I couldn’t look away. I liked that unpredictability. It reminded me of watching lightning: beautiful, frightening, and over before you can process it.
The ideas at the heart of the book resonated deeply with me. The blend of religious myth, Mayan ritual, and modern investigative grit felt daring, and I respect that. I didn’t always know where Rickards was taking me, but that was part of the ride. At times, I felt awe, other times revulsion, and sometimes a little sadness at the broken people caught in the mess. What I liked most was the sense that belief, whether pure or twisted, can drive people to terrifying extremes. The book doesn’t lecture about that. It just lays it bare, and that quiet honesty hit me harder than a long explanation ever could.
The Tao of the Thirteenth God is a gripping read. I’d recommend it to readers who want a thriller that goes beyond surface-level scares and isn’t afraid to weave history, faith, and horror into one unsettling tapestry. If you like your stories strange, stormy, and a little uncomfortable, this one’s for you.
Pages: 290 | ASIN : B006QPEAN6
LITERARY TITAN 