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Inside Henry Cato
Katharine English’s Inside Henry Cato is a sweeping queer coming-of-age novel about a Kansas boy searching for a life that feels genuinely his. Growing up with an abusive, fiercely religious mother, Henry finds refuge in storytelling and an intense fascination with women’s shoes. He runs away in 1967, first joining young idealists bound for San Francisco and later entering the art scene of New York. The older Henry narrates these events with the knowledge of what they cost him, giving the novel the intimacy of a confession and the shape of a survivor’s memoir.
English uses shoes as the book’s central language. For Henry, they represent beauty, escape, erotic feeling, performance, and eventually creative purpose. That symbolism could have become heavy-handed, but it keeps evolving alongside him. His early thefts are acts of resistance, his modeling career turns his appearance into someone else’s property, and his later work as a shoemaker finally lets him create beauty on his own terms. Letters exchanged with his childhood friend Perry interrupt the first-person narrative at key moments, grounding Henry’s reinventions in a relationship that remains candid, funny, and remarkably tender.
Perry is the novel’s strongest supporting character and its emotional anchor. His slangy, irreverent letters bring warmth to a story filled with abuse, exploitation, sexual violence, and the Vietnam War. Trixie and Xander also give Henry a convincing chosen family in New York, while his relationships with Del, Cherub, and Lady Vesta explore the complicated border between care and control. English is especially perceptive about bodily responses that don’t neatly correspond to consent, and she treats Henry’s fluid sense of gender and sexuality as something lived and evolving. He doesn’t need to arrive at a tidy label for his identity to be real.
The novel is ambitious, vivid, and emotionally generous, though its 376 pages occasionally feel crowded. Henry sometimes explains the meaning of an experience after the scene has already communicated it, and the historical commentary can slow the narrative’s momentum. A few coincidences and dream sequences also announce their significance more insistently than necessary. Still, English’s sensory writing is consistently memorable, from the damp rot of the childhood cellar to the leather, glitter, smoke, and music of Henry’s later worlds. The recurring images of masks, thresholds, and footsteps give the sprawling story a satisfying unity.
I’d recommend Inside Henry Cato most strongly to readers who enjoy character-driven historical fiction, queer coming-of-age stories, and novels about chosen family, artistic identity, and survival. It will especially appeal to readers interested in the counterculture of the late 1960s, the early queer communities of San Francisco and New York, and protagonists whose identities resist simple categories. The book contains explicit depictions of childhood abuse, sexual assault, and violence, so it asks for some emotional readiness. For the right reader, Henry’s voice and his lifelong friendship with Perry will linger long after the final page.
Pages: 376 | ASIN : B0HCHF37MC
Truth is Important
Based on a true story, Daughter of Warriors follows a young Osage woman whose journey is marked by family devotion, forced assimilation, oil wealth, violence, and the enduring search for safety. What inspired you to build the novel around her story?
I grew up in Kansas City where my mother’s best friend – and my Godmother – was a beautiful, generous Osage woman. I adored her. Because of the oil found on the Osage reservation, she was very rich. As an Osage woman she was the target of racism. As a wealthy woman she was the target of fortune seekers. As an orphan and only child, she was alone trying to fight both. When she died in her early forties, I was a typically dramatic — and completely devastated — teenager, and promised her that one day I would write her story. When that time finally came and I started doing research, one of my early discoveries was a newspaper story in the Milwaukee Sentinel, “America’s Richest Indian Heiress Dies of Too Much Money.” It was as racist as it sounds. It was about her mother, Mary. I knew then that I had to write Mary’s story first. Mary is my protagonist, Lucy, in DAUGHTER OF WARRIORS.
The novel vividly portrays Osage life, the oil boom, and the Reign of Terror. What kind of research did you undertake to ensure those events were represented with care and authenticity?
I did research for years. I went to Pawhuska, the capital of Osage County, Oklahoma, and spoke to many. I went to Kansas City (I live in LA now) to revisit the places where the story takes place. I ran everything past my Godmother’s daughter, who is active in Osage and Indigenous issues generally. I spent a very long time online following any thread I could find. And I am now the owner of dozens of books I ordered and read about the Osage, about Native American Boarding Schools, about this country’s First People, and, of course, the Roaring Twenties in Kansas City, where I first encountered the woman who was to become my narrator, Loula Long Combs.
A word about Loula: I fell in love with this indomitable Kansas Citian at about the same time I was learning how strongly many Indigenous People object to the idea of others telling their stories. Loula became my narrator to make it clear that while the story is written by a white woman, I don’t pretend to understand what Lucy— or any other Native American — experienced. But history, as it’s taught in most schools and written in most books, doesn’t truthfully tell the colonization story — or how completely prejudice continues today. And truth is important. It’s the only way we can change the future.
If readers finish the novel remembering one idea or emotion, what do you hope it is?
That, contrary to what we’ve been taught — and seen in most movies and TV series — Colonizers and Settlers weren’t the good guys. Native Americans were here first. They believed God was in everything: rocks and mountains, seas and rivers, all living creatures. They honored everything accordingly. They had sophisticated trade systems with other tribes and Nations. They had a sophisticated culture that worked well for them — but it wasn’t OUR culture. We took their land and killed nearly all of them as we took it. Yes, they fought back. Of course they did. But arrows are no match for bullets. I want readers to realize that colonization was cruel. That white people considered the First People less than human and treated them accordingly. That the way we treat Indigenous People still is unconscionable.
What is the next book that you are working on, and when will it be available?
I’m now writing my Godmother’s story and calling it, at least for now, COYOTE’S EYES. Her mother, frightened for her child’s safety, sent her to a Catholic Boarding School in California. She lived in California for nearly twenty years, allowing me to tell stories of the Tongva tribe and of old Hollywood before she returns to Kansas City. It should be available by the middle of next year.
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Seeking sanctuary in 1920s Kansas City, Lucy marries Edward Walsh, an Irish lawyer who promises protection amidst the city’s thriving jazz scene and the powerful Pendergast political machine. But safety is an illusion, and the shadows of Oklahoma follow her, claiming those she loves and threatening her young daughter, Nevie. Caught between her spiritual heritage and the sophisticated wickedness of a world that views her as a “savage,” Lucy must make an agonizing choice to ensure her daughter’s survival.
In this gripping tale of loss and legacy, one woman must navigate the quicksand of corruption and bigotry to protect her heritage-and her child.
Daughter of Warriors
Daughter of Warriors, by Kimberly Kirkland Seidman, is a historical fiction novel based on a true story, following Lucy Walsh, a young Osage woman whose life is shaped by family love, forced assimilation, oil wealth, violence, and the constant search for safety. Told through Loula Long Combs, a woman looking back on Lucy’s life with affection and regret, the book moves from Lucy’s childhood on the Osage reservation to the dangers that follow her into adulthood, marriage, motherhood, and Kansas City society. At its heart, this is a story about survival, but also about what it costs to survive when the world keeps taking from you.
What I enjoyed most was how patient Seidman is with Lucy’s interior life. The novel doesn’t rush her pain, and it does not flatten her into a symbol. She’s frightened, proud, tender, guarded, lonely, and sometimes frustrating in ways that feel deeply human. I appreciated that the book gives equal weight to the small moments, like horses, family meals, childhood friendships, and quiet prayers, because those details make the later losses land harder. The historical fiction genre works well here because Seidman uses story to make history feel close. Not safely tucked away in a textbook. Close enough to hurt.
I also found myself thinking a lot about Loula as the narrator. That choice gives the book a reflective layer, almost like listening to someone confess what she understood too late. There is guilt in her voice, but also care, and that gives the novel a steady emotional pulse. At times, the book is heavy, especially in its treatment of boarding schools, racism, murder, and the predatory greed surrounding Osage headrights. But I didn’t feel the heaviness was careless. Seidman seems intent on showing how violence can be public and private at the same time, how it can live in laws, polite rooms, newspapers, marriages, and silence. That is a hard idea, and the novel sits with it.
I would recommend Daughter of Warriors to readers who appreciate historical fiction with moral weight, emotional depth, and a strong sense of place. It will especially appeal to those interested in Osage history, Native American stories, early twentieth-century America, and character-driven novels about trauma, memory, and resilience. This isn’t a light read, but it’s a worthwhile one. It feels like the kind of book you finish quietly, then keep thinking about afterward.
Pages: 520 | ASIN : B0H3WTRV44
The Grasshopper Lost Its Wings
The Grasshopper Lost Its Wings is a historical fiction novel with strong elements of romance, immigrant drama, and political suspense. It follows Chapu, a poor young juice vendor in Mexico City, and Tere, a university student from a wealthier family, as their tender love story becomes tangled in class pressure, family expectations, the assassination of Luis Donaldo Colosio, exile, guilt, and the long ache of becoming someone new in another country. At its heart, this is a story about love, survival, and the heavy cost of chasing a life that keeps asking you to leave pieces of yourself behind.
I liked the way the novel refuses to keep love simple. Chapu and Tere’s relationship begins with sweetness, saved parking spots, fresh juice, inside jokes, music, and that bright feeling of being seen. Then the world crowds in. Money matters. Class matters. Politics matters. Fear matters. I liked that the author lets those pressures build slowly instead of treating them like background noise. Mexico City feels alive in the book, full of traffic, food, myth, old wounds, family rules, and sudden beauty. The use of Mexica, Nahua, Totonac, and Mayan legends gives the story a larger shape, as if the characters are living inside both modern history and older stories about fate, sacrifice, transformation, and loss.
I also found the author’s choices ambitious, sometimes almost overflowing. The book moves from campus romance to political conspiracy to immigrant survival story, and that gives it a wide emotional range. Some scenes are intimate and warm, while others are tense, brutal, or deeply sad. Chapu’s journey in the United States was especially effective for me because it shows success as something complicated. He makes money. He builds a life. He finds chosen family. But he is still lonely, still afraid, still carrying Mexico in his bones. That felt honest. I did sometimes feel the novel wanted to do many things at once, but I also respected that largeness. Life is messy, and this book leans into the mess instead of smoothing it out.
I would recommend The Grasshopper Lost Its Wings to readers who enjoy historical fiction that blends romance, political history, family drama, and immigrant experience. It will especially appeal to readers interested in Mexico in the 1990s, cross-class love stories, and novels where personal choices are shaped by forces much larger than the characters themselves. This is not a light romance, even when it is romantic. It is a reflective, sorrowful, and heartfelt novel about what people survive, what they regret, and what they finally have to release.
Pages: 291 | ASIN : B0GRVPKKX6
The Atmosphere of War
Sawadika American Girl follows an American teenager in Vietnam War-era Bangkok, as music, first love, and shared sorrow help her find a place for grief, longing, and belonging. What was the inspiration for the setup of your story?
Most people aren’t aware that during the Vietnam War, Thailand served as a major US military outpost, with over eight military bases scattered throughout the kingdom. In addition, thousands of American families lived in Bangkok with fathers who worked for the American Embassy, USAID, the CIA, the US Military, and as private contractors. All in direct or indirect support of the war effort. On top of that, in 1968, the year my novel takes place, nearly 5,000 GI’s were pouring into Bangkok each month on R&R, bringing their turmoil with them. This created a ‘little America’ that was complex and combustible and often at odds with Thai sensibilities and culture. Having grown up in Thailand, I understood these underlying tensions and knew it was fertile ground for a story. Making it a coming-of-age story with a 17-year-old female protagonist struck me as a powerful and unexpected way to shed light on this overlooked pocket of history.
Music feels central to Piper’s emotional life; how did you approach writing piano as both technique and feeling?
Music anchors Piper emotionally in a world that doesn’t make sense. The act of playing the piano becomes a private space where she works out her emotions. Her piano teacher is a Thai Prince who had studied with the great Chilean pianist Claudio Arrau. Arrau’s technique was legendary for centering the body for maximum emotional expression. This is what the Prince teaches Piper. Her efforts to master this technique symbolize her struggle to come to terms with what is going on in her life.
The character of the Thai Prince who studied with Arrau is based on a piano teacher I had. There was a vibrant classical music scene in Bangkok at this time. Renowned musicians had Bangkok on their concert tours. This made sense because the Thai King was a talented jazz musician and composed his own music. And as a young girl, the Queen studied classical piano in Paris. I love that thread of the story because no one expects it, but it is absolutely true.
Jack and Piper’s relationship is brief but deeply affecting. What did you want their connection to reveal about war, loneliness, and belonging?
Life is always precious. But war, even the atmosphere of war, perverts that value, making life more precious and less precious at the same time. Piper and Jack experience this intensity from different vantage points, but each is tuned in to the sense of loneliness and dislocation that proximity to war brings. Most of the story unfolds during a single week, about the length of a soldier’s R&R. Under such conditions, time stretches. Three, four, or even five days together mean everything. That perception of time is woven into the fabric of their relationship.
How did you balance the intimate story of Piper’s coming of age with the larger historical forces surrounding her?
The bulk of the novel unfolds over a single week in 1968. That is on purpose. The assassinations of MLK and Robert Kennedy had happened, the Tet Offensive had occurred, and the casualty rate for soldiers and civilians in Vietnam was at a high point. All of that darkened the mood for Americans working in Bangkok. There were tensions with the Thai government. As a dependent, this increased the pressure for Piper to behave a certain way and not put a foot wrong. That kind of control is at odds with an individual’s ability to come of age, which is by definition about asserting one’s independence in a way that produces some kind of personal and intimate transformation. This put Piper on a collision course with the forces around her.
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One night, Piper ditches the American Teen Club to party with an older crowd. Sparks fly when she meets Jack, a 19-year-old GI on R&R from Vietnam. Defying the Army’s non-fraternization policy, they pledge to spend his leave together. As the hypocrisy of the war closes in on them, Jack’s name surfaces in a drug investigation and Piper discovers a disturbing truth about her father, forcing both to decide what they are willing to risk for a few more days together.
Sawadika American Girl is the story of a young American woman coming-of-age on the periphery of a brutal, unjust war.
A Rich Tapestry
The Sword and the Hearth follows a young Brittonic boy thrust into leadership and survival as Saxon invaders threaten to crush his tribe and way of life, forcing him to mature quickly and navigate the complexities of war, leadership, and personal sacrifice.
What was your writing process to ensure you captured the essence of the characters?
My writing process for capturing the essence of the characters in “The Sword and the Hearth” was deeply iterative and rooted in a blend of imagination and focused development. It started with extensive brainstorming and profiling. Before I even wrote the first chapter, I created detailed character profiles for each main character, outlining not just their physical appearance but also their backstories, core beliefs, fears, desires, quirks, and even their favorite foods. This initial immersion helped me understand them as complete individuals, especially considering the varied backgrounds and social strata present in “The Sword and the Hearth.”
Then, during the actual writing, I employed method acting for authors. I’d often pause and ask myself, “How would this character react in this exact situation?” or “What would their internal monologue sound like right now?” This involved stepping into their shoes and genuinely trying to inhabit their perspective, particularly when exploring the nuanced relationships and internal conflicts central to the story. I paid close attention to their voice—ensuring that their dialogue, vocabulary, and even their thought patterns felt distinct and authentic to them, reflecting their individual journeys and development.
Finally, revision was crucial for refinement. I’d read scenes aloud, sometimes even acting out the dialogue, to catch any inconsistencies in character voice or motivation. I also relied on trusted beta readers who would provide feedback specifically on character believability, helping me to polish their nuances until they felt truly alive on the page, like companions in the reader’s own hearth.
What were some themes that were important for you to explore in this book?
Several themes were important for me to explore in “The Sword and the Hearth,” and they often interwove to create a richer tapestry:
The Enduring Strength of Family (Chosen and Blood): Whether it’s the bonds of biological family or the connections forged with individuals who become like family through shared trials, the strength and complexities of these relationships were central to the narrative. I wanted to show how these connections can be both a source of comfort and conflict, truly forming the ‘hearth’ aspect of the title.
The Nature of Identity and Belonging: Many characters grapple with who they are, where they fit in, and what truly defines them, especially when faced with challenging circumstances or new environments. This theme often explored the tension between individual desires and societal expectations, particularly within the feudal setting.
The Power and Peril of Secrets: Secrets, both personal and generational, play a significant role. I wanted to examine how secrets can shape relationships, influence decisions, and ultimately lead to either liberation or destruction, often with far-reaching consequences for the characters and the realm.
Redemption and Second Chances: I was keen to explore the idea that even after mistakes or difficult pasts, there’s often an opportunity for characters to find redemption, to change, and to build a better future for themselves and those around them, irrespective of their station or previous choices.
Will there be a follow-up novel to this story? If so, what aspects of the story will the next book cover?
While “The Sword and the Hearth” stands as a complete narrative in its own right, the literary journey for me, Ciaran MacLeod, has continued with “Echoes of the Ancient Isle,” which serves as the next significant novel in my bibliography.
“Echoes of the Ancient Isle” explores entirely new facets of the world and delves into different aspects of fantasy. It primarily focuses on the unearthing of forgotten histories and the resurgence of ancient magic. Readers will find themselves immersed in a world where the past literally resonates through the present, uncovering secrets tied to long-lost civilizations and powerful artifacts. The story examines themes of legacy, the enduring influence of ancestral spirits, and the profound consequences of disturbing dormant forces. While it features a new cast of characters and a distinct setting, it represents the continuation of my overarching storytelling themes of discovery, personal growth through adversity, and the intricate dance between human will and destiny. It expands the scope of my fictional universe, inviting readers to explore entirely different realms and challenges.
Author Links: GoodReads | Instagram | Website
Raised in the northern hills of Britannia, Cadric must navigate the complexities of war, leadership, and personal sacrifice as he becomes the unlikely leader of his tribe. Alongside him is Maev, a woman whose strength and determination challenge Cadric’s own sense of duty and love. Together, they must face not only the violent Saxon forces gathering at their borders but also the internal struggles that threaten to tear their community apart.
Amidst brutal battles, moments of heartbreak, and triumphs of courage, The Sword and the Hearth is a tale of resilience, the ties that bind people together, and the price of leadership. Will Cadric be able to unite his people and protect the hearth of his homeland, or will the Saxons prove too powerful to resist? This is a story of honor, loyalty, and the strength to protect what truly matters.
The Sword and the Hearth
The Sword and the Hearth follows Cadric, a young Brittonic boy thrust into leadership and survival as Saxon invaders threaten to crush his tribe and way of life. From the fog-choked forests of Eboracum to the blood-soaked hillforts of ancient Britain, this novel delivers an unflinching look at resistance, loyalty, and legacy. It is as much a coming-of-age story as it is a meditation on the costs of war, culture, and identity. As Cadric transforms from a frightened adolescent into a hardened leader, the reader is taken through heart-pounding battles, devastating losses, and the ever-tightening grip of fate.
I found the writing both gritty and poetic. The prose often reads like folklore, earthy, elemental, steeped in loss and myth. There are no wasted words here. Every paragraph drips with atmosphere. The mist, the blood, the grit in Cadric’s boots, it’s all vivid, almost cinematic. And the dialogue is sparse, sharp, and realistic. It respects the silence of trauma. What hit hardest for me were the quiet moments. Cadric watching smoke rise on the horizon or whispering a promise to his dying mother. The action scenes thrum with intensity, but it’s the quiet heartbreaks that linger.
The book is heavy, relentless even. There are stretches where the despair almost chokes the page, and the pacing slows as characters dig deeper into pain and politics. But maybe that’s the point. The story doesn’t pretend there are easy answers or heroic victories. It feels honest to the bone. Cadric’s growth isn’t triumphant; it’s painful, earned in blood and grief. The portrayal of the Saxons isn’t cartoonish either. There’s nuance here, a mutual alienation and brutality that makes the conflict feel tragically human.
The Sword and the Hearth shook me. It made me angry, sad, and strangely hopeful. It’s a story for readers who want their historical fiction raw and emotionally complex, who don’t need neat endings or pretty resolutions. I’d recommend this to fans of Bernard Cornwell or Mary Renault, basically anyone who appreciates richly textured worlds, stoic characters, and the ache of endurance. It’s not a casual read, but it’s a worthy one.
Pages: 368 | ASIN : B0DKPYGZDK
SOULFUL RETURN
Fidelis O. Mkparu’s Soulful Return is a poignant and deeply introspective novel that traces the journey of Dr. Afamefuna Nwaku, a Nigerian immigrant and successful physician in Boston, as he confronts the sacrifices he’s made—his family, his culture, his identity—for the promise of success in America. Through powerful narration, the story explores Afam’s growing disconnect from his homeland and loved ones, all culminating in a difficult decision between career ambition and cultural belonging. Woven through with the haunting presence of ancestral voices and dreams of Nigeria, this novel isn’t just about going home, it’s about reckoning with what it means to truly belong.
From the very first chapter, I felt this book hit close to home. That opening scene, Afam sitting on the banks of the Charles River, haunted by invisible drums calling him back to Nigeria, was more than poetic. It was spiritual. That deep ache of being split between two worlds, trying to find comfort in a place that doesn’t fully embrace you, is something I know well. Mkparu captures it all—the rhythm of longing, the quiet pain of assimilation, and the guilt of forgetting where you come from. And when Afam loosens his tie and lets the water lap over his bare feet, it felt like a baptism, like he was trying to wash off decades of silence.
But what really tore me up was the tension in Afam’s marriage. The scenes between him and Elisha hit like a gut punch. When she said, “I feel lonely lying next to you,” I had to put the book down for a minute. That kind of emotional neglect is too real. You can love someone and still be absent from them. Elisha was grieving the life she thought they were building together. And Afam, caught between trying to be a provider and losing sight of being a partner, is a complex portrait of a man who’s been chasing success so long he forgot what he left behind. Mkparu didn’t sugarcoat the cracks in that relationship. He let it bleed on the page.
Then there’s the whole weight of duty—both to his American life and his family back in Nigeria. It reminded me how often we, as Black men, carry burdens we didn’t ask for. We become bridges between two worlds. Expected to be everything to everyone—patriarchs, professionals, saviors. It’s exhausting. And when Afam stands in front of the hospital wall looking at the executive photo lineup, wondering if his face will be up there or lost in a place that never truly felt like his—man, I felt that.
Mkparu’s writing style is rich but never pretentious. He doesn’t dress his emotions up in fancy words. He lets them spill out. The way he uses flashbacks, dreams, and internal voices keeps the reader grounded in Afam’s inner world without feeling lost. I appreciated how he didn’t resolve things neatly. Life, especially for people caught between cultures, isn’t neat.
I’d recommend Soulful Return to anyone who’s ever felt the pull of two homes, two identities, or two versions of themselves. African Americans, especially, will feel the layers here—the echoes of diaspora, the questioning of what “home” even means. It’s a book for immigrants, yes, but also for anyone who’s chased a dream and then looked around and wondered what they left behind.
Pages: 322 | ASIN : B0F1DWCFT8
