The Calamity Club

 

The Calamity Club 

By Kathryn Stockett

The Calamity Club is set in Oxford, Mississippi, in 1933, Depression-era America at its most desperate, most divided, and most unforgiving…especially if you happened to be a woman.

Let me tell you something first: this book is a brick. 656 pages. So, settle in, grab a glass of wine, and dive in if you dare.

I traveled quite a bit while reading this one and literally had to carry it outside of my backpack because it wouldn’t fit with all my work stuff. I felt dedicated.  Three different people stopped me in the airport to ask about it. Two people really liked it. One woman said she got bored with the “second story.” And honestly? I can understand that.

But don’t dismiss this book because of its length. It is definitely a commitment, but once I settled in, I found myself surprisingly invested in the story.

I feel like I am constantly being reminded of the place women have held in this world, and how much, depending on the circumstances, it sometimes feels like we haven’t progressed nearly as far as we should have. We have progressed. Obviously. But sometimes it feels situational…depending on the decade, the circumstances, the money in your bank account, the color of your skin, and, unfortunately, whether the people around you have decided you deserve a seat at the table.

Stockett wrote The Help, which, if I remember correctly, felt much more centered on race and the realities of Black women working in White households. The Calamity Club feels more focused on poverty, class, gender, and the lengths women will go to when the systems around them leave them very few options.

And then there is the actual story, which, I have to admit, occasionally required me to suspend my disbelief.

Two women start a brothel in the home of a well-respected woman in a very small, very gossipy Southern town in the 1930s.

I’m sorry…but that would have been shut down immediately.

Based on what I know about the 1930s, there is no way an entire town would just casually allow this to happen. And yet, in this story, people either overlook it, participate in it, or somehow manage to convince themselves they don't know about it.

The women are constantly running out of money, but apparently there is one business model that remains recession-proof:

Sex sells. Literally.

And while some of the plot required me to just go with it, I really appreciated the women at the center of this story. They are resourceful, stubborn, complicated, and, above all, determined. There is something I will always appreciate about an “okay, this is a terrible situation…so what are we going to do about it?” kind of woman.

The story is told through two alternating narrators whose lives couldn't begin farther apart.

Birdie Calhoun is a practical, plain-spoken young woman who travels to Oxford with one goal: convince her well-married socialite sister, Frances, to help save the family farm from foreclosure. It seems simple enough…until Birdie arrives and discovers that Frances's picture-perfect life is built on a foundation of secrets that could shatter everything.

Then there is Meg LeFleur, eleven years old, sharp as a tack, and one of the so-called “unadoptable” girls at the Lafayette County Orphan Asylum. Meg has learned not to count on anyone. Her mother disappeared on Christmas Eve and never came back, and the world has given her very little reason to believe anyone is coming to save her.

But then Birdie crosses her path.

And slowly, their lives begin to intertwine.

As Birdie digs deeper into her sister's troubles and Meg navigates one impossible situation after another, their stories begin to braid together in unexpected ways. Add Charlie, a woman pushed to the absolute edge of what she can endure, and a bold, unconventional plan begins to take shape, drawing in a remarkable network of women, both Black and White, who are simply trying to survive a system designed to work against them.

What follows is part social commentary, part found-family story, part Southern adventure, and, at times, completely ridiculous in the best possible way.

Stockett pulls back the curtain on the hypocrisy of “respectable” society while showing the quiet, defiant courage of women living on its margins.

But my favorite part of the book wasn't the brothel, the secrets, or even the Calamity Club itself.

It was Meg and Tom.

Tom becomes Meg's adoptive father, and one of their rituals is walking to the lake every day so he can teach her how to swim.

One day, Meg asks him if he can hear the dogs at night.

He tells her that the dogs were once released to track runaway slaves.

The story stays with her. Later, when she considers running away because she is afraid she will be sent back to the orphanage, she worries that the dogs will find her and bring her back.

As she packs her things, believing she is headed back to the orphanage, she thinks:

“I guess that is about the best you can ask for in life. To find the person who will keep the dogs from getting you.”

That line...

Because maybe that really is one of the greatest gifts in life.

To love and be loved.

To find the person who will stand between you and the dogs.

We all deserve that kind of love. And, maybe even more importantly, we all have the opportunity to be that person for someone else…to make someone feel safe, seen, wanted, and loved.

Tom also holds tightly to his copy of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s This Side of Paradise. The book becomes a quiet symbol of his life, his ambitions, and ultimately, his memory.

When Meg is preparing to leave, she sneaks into his office intending to take the book with her. But when she opens it and sees his name and the date he received it, she changes her mind.

Instead, she adds her own name.

Margot Louise Lefleur was here, October 7, 1933.

And somehow, that felt like the magic of The Calamity Club.

It wasn't just a story about survival.

It was about leaving a mark.

About finding your people. About being remembered. About building a family in places where you didn't expect to find one.

It built a community…messy, complicated, imperfect, and deeply human.

And maybe that's what stayed with me most after all 656 pages.

Sometimes the greatest thing we can do for another person is simply make sure they know they were here.

My Husband's Wife

 

My Husband's Wife

By Alice Feeney

Book club pick, and I was determined to finish this before everyone gathered because I missed last month. My month has been insanely busy, and I still haven’t had a day off since August 3rd…yes, I’m keeping track. Regardless, I finished most of this book on my flights to and from Charlotte to Lansing, wrapped it up last night, and what can I say?

I have a headache.

One house. One husband. Two women. Someone is lying.

Sounds interesting, right?

The book starts off fast-paced and genuinely thrilling, and I was immediately into it. Eden Fox comes home to find another woman living in her house who claims to be her husband’s wife. From there, the story alternates between Eden and Birdy, a reclusive woman drawn to the same house through a sinister clinic that predicts the date of your death.

And then things get…complicated.

Actually, really complicated.

I spent most of this book confused. Seriously, it felt completely out of control at times. There are twists on top of twists, identity switches, secrets, timelines, and enough deception to make you question pretty much every character, and your own ability to follow along.

Will the real Eden please stand up?

The premise of the clinic predicting your death date was actually the part I found myself thinking about the most. Would you want to know the exact date you were going to die? I honestly don’t know. My instinct is to say no. Why wouldn’t I just live the life I want to live and keep going as normal without knowing? But then I think about the question behind it: If you knew, would you change how you live?

It reminded me of The Measure, which was a book club pick for us that received very mixed reviews but led to a great conversation. I found that premise fascinating too, and I think it’s one of those questions that sticks with you long after you finish the book.

As for My Husband’s Wife…I’m less sure the actual story stuck with me in the same way.

There were too many loopholes and moments that didn’t quite make sense to me. Some of the twists felt more convoluted than shocking, and while I absolutely did not see the ending coming when it came to the whodunit, it was also completely over the top.

I actually think this would make a better movie. The fast pace, unreliable characters, twists, secrets, and “wait…WHAT?” moments would probably work really well on screen.

This book was an absolute roller coaster…confusing, convoluted, twisted, and occasionally exhausting. I will give Alice Feeney credit for one thing: she kept me guessing.

Trying to explain this book would be like trying to explain a family tree after everyone has married, divorced, changed their name, and assumed someone else’s identity.

And based on my track record, I think I’ll rule out ever becoming a detective.

 

Whistler

 

Whistler 

By Ann Patchett

The last book I read by Ann Patchett was Tom Lake. I felt like I might have been the only person who didn't love it. I eventually decided that maybe I should have listened to the audiobook instead…after all, it's narrated by Meryl Streep. I still haven't gone back to give it another chance, but maybe one day.

Whistler was my book club's August selection, and I disappointed myself by not finishing it in time.

Life got in the way.

I've moved...again.

I've moved more times than I care to count, but this one nearly did me in. The condo I bought came furnished…apparently, there was no negotiating that. What I happily focused on instead were the sweeping floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the water. What I conveniently overlooked? It was on the third floor...with no elevator...and I was moving in 95-degree heat.

Several friends and family members gently asked, "Third floor? No elevator? Are you sure?"

I didn't listen.

Now that the dust has settled, though, I've loudly proclaimed that when I eventually sell this place, it's going furnished!

This past Saturday, I finally picked up Whistler and finished it that evening. I couldn't decide if I loved the novel or if I was simply basking in the reading nook Vee created by those beautiful windows overlooking the water. Maybe it was both.

The novel opens with a wonderfully intriguing premise. Imagine walking through the Metropolitan Museum of Art on an ordinary afternoon when an elderly stranger begins following you. What would you do?  I think most people would speed up…maybe head toward security.  Daphne freezes.

The man following her is Eddie Triplett, her stepfather…a man she hasn't seen or spoken to in forty-four years.

Patchett moves effortlessly between present-day New York and a freezing January night in 1980, when nine-year-old Daphne and Eddie survived a car accident that should have killed them both.

This isn't really a story about the accident itself. It's about everything that comes after.

It's about how families rewrite history. How children quietly carry blame that was never theirs. How memory shifts over time. And how love doesn't always fit neatly into the boxes other people expect.

One of my favorite scenes from that snowy night is when Eddie distracts Daphne by telling her the story of a horse named Whistler. The horse stays beside an injured woman stranded in a remote place, refusing to leave her until help arrives. On the surface, it's simply a story to calm a frightened little girl. But it's also a beautiful metaphor for loyalty, hope, and surviving impossible circumstances.

What really happened that night?

Why did the marriage end?

Is it ever too late to understand the people we once loved?

As Daphne searches for answers, we uncover them alongside her, piece by piece.

There was one part of the novel that absolutely floored me.

When everyone finally sits around the table together decades later, no one…not one person…has ever asked Daphne what happened after she left the wreck to find help.

Forty-plus years.

No one asked.

At first, I thought, How is that even possible?

But then I thought about real life.

How often are conversations completely one-sided? How many people talk endlessly about themselves without ever asking a genuine question? How many never remember the things you've shared or follow up on something important in your life?

Suddenly, it didn't seem so unbelievable after all.

In many ways, that realization may have been the most heartbreaking part of the novel.

Whistler is a quietly powerful story about memory, family, forgiveness, and the stories we tell ourselves to survive. It's about the family we're born into, the family we long for, and the family we ultimately choose. It reminds us that every family has hidden histories, misunderstood decisions, and acts of love that often go unnoticed.

And yes...

About that cover.

Who is Whistler? Why the horse?

Trust the journey.

Like so much in this novel, the answer arrives quietly, and it's all the more beautiful because of it.

And one last thing...

I hope Daphne eventually writes that novel for Eddie. After everything they endured together…and everything left unsaid…I think it's a story worth telling.

I'd certainly read it.

 

Wuthering Heights - the movie

 

Wuthering Heights...the movie.

My coworker Alexis told me I had to watch the new movie, Wuthering Heights.  She loved it.  It is a daring reimagining of Emily Brontë’s classic novel. I’m fairly certain I read the book many years ago, although the details have long since vanished. From what I do recall, this adaptation goes beyond simply retelling the story, offering a fresh, darker interpretation of the familiar tale.

Right out of the gate, I felt like the film was trying a little too hard to grab me and shake me awake. It opens with heavy breathing and strong sexual undertones before abruptly cutting to a man being hanged. There’s no gentle introduction, it throws you directly into the deep end. Honestly, I think I would have preferred the violence to stand on its own rather than layering it with additional shock and mystery.

That feeling lingered throughout much of the film. I went in expecting more of a gothic romance or period drama, but it leans far darker and more graphic than I anticipated. There were also a few scenes, particularly those involving animal slaughter and its accompanying sounds and imagery, that I personally could have done without. I understand the intent was to emphasize the harsh realities of life on the moors, but for me it crossed the line from effective atmosphere into excess.

That said, there was a lot I genuinely loved. The atmosphere was immersive, the mood was haunting, and the overall aesthetic was beautifully realized. The costumes were stunning, richly detailed and perfectly suited to the world the filmmakers created. And I have to mention Isabella, played by Alison Oliver, who completely stood out to me. Her performance felt natural, grounded, and emotionally authentic, drawing my attention every time she appeared on screen.

The film centers on the dysfunctional love story between Catherine Earnshaw (Margot Robbie) and her brooding foster brother, Heathcliff (Jacob Elordi). They are introduced as children, and surprisingly, I found myself more invested in the younger versions of the characters than their adult counterparts. Their performances carried a rawness and emotional honesty that really resonated.

As the story unfolds, Catherine marries Edgar (Shazad Latif), prompting Heathcliff to leave in a rage. Years later, he returns with a fortune of his own and a burning desire to either reclaim Catherine or get revenge. He stokes Catherine’s jealousy by turning his attention to Edgar’s impressionable young ward, Isabella, who delivers what I found to be the film’s strongest performance.

Heathcliff and Catherine are deeply flawed, selfish people who leave destruction in their wake. Their relationship creates a toxic cycle of obsession, love, cruelty, and revenge that ultimately consumes not only themselves but nearly everyone around them.

Despite the heavier moments that didn’t sit well with me, I still enjoyed the film’s atmosphere, visuals, and emotional intensity. I would recommend watching it, with the caveat that some scenes are particularly graphic and may not be for everyone.

What stayed with me most is this: Wuthering Heights is a beautiful film that sometimes hurts to look at, but perhaps that’s exactly what it intended to be.

The Heiress

 

The Heiress 

By Rachel Hawkins

Angeline picked this one for book club, and I had been saving it for my trip to Mexico. I started it on the flight down and spent the next day stretched out in the sun, sipping piña coladas and turning page after page. Between the family drama, buried secrets, and shocking revelations, I was completely hooked, and more than a little grateful that none of it was part of my own family history.

"I had gotten away with murder, and I was glad for it."

Now that’s an opening line.

This novel is an addictive thriller packed with rumors, whispers, long-buried secrets, scheming relatives, and not one, not two, but four mysterious deaths. There is no shortage of drama, and every new revelation pulls you deeper into the story.

At the center of it all is Ruby McTavish Callahan Woodward Miller Kenmore, the richest and most notorious woman in North Carolina. A childhood kidnapping survivor, four-time widow, and matriarch of the powerful McTavish empire, Ruby leaves behind a fortune, an estate, and a legacy far more complicated than it appears.

When her adopted son, Camden, inherits everything, he wants nothing to do with it. Having built a quiet life far from Ashby House and the weight of the McTavish name, he is determined to keep his distance. But when a death in the family draws him and his wife, Jules, back to the sprawling estate, old wounds begin to reopen and long-buried secrets start to surface. The deeper Jules digs into the McTavish family history, the more determined she becomes to uncover the truth, and claim what she believes should be theirs.

And then there’s Ashby House itself. The fifteen-bedroom mansion perched in the Blue Ridge Mountains is practically a character in its own right. If those walls could talk, I would listen for hours. The stories hidden within them could easily fill a book of their own.

What I enjoyed most was Ruby’s story, which unfolds through a series of letters written to an unknown recipient. Those chapters added so much depth and intrigue, gradually peeling back the layers of her fascinating and complicated life. As the past collides with the present and the identity of her correspondent is finally revealed, the truth about Ruby, and the choices she made, comes into focus. My overwhelming thought was simply: what a wild life she lived.

Overall, I thoroughly enjoyed this book. If you love family sagas filled with secrets, lies, manipulation, inheritance battles, and unexpected twists, The Heiress is a very entertaining read.

In the end, the novel reminds us that wealth may buy power, influence, and even silence, but it can never bury the truth forever. Families inherit more than money; they inherit stories, secrets, and consequences. And sooner or later, every legacy demands to be reckoned with.

 

Evidence of the Affair

 

Evidence of the Affair 

By Taylor Jenkins Reid

Have you ever heard of Illicit Affairs by Taylor Swift? Have you read this book? If not, I officially nominate that song as the soundtrack to this story.

And that's the thing about illicit affairs
And clandestine meetings and stolen stares
They show their truth one single time
But they lie, and they lie, and they lie
A million little times

The book opens with a letter:

"Dear Mr. David Mayer,

My name is Carrie Allsop. Please accept my apologies for contacting you out of the blue. My heart goes out to you, David. Even though I do not know you... I am writing to ask a quite humbling favor. I recently found some love letters in my husband's briefcase that I believe to be from your wife, Janet..."

Can you imagine receiving a letter like that?

As I read, I couldn't decide whether Carrie was acting out of courage or heartbreak. Was she seeking answers, or was she driven by anger and betrayal? Maybe it was both. She goes on to ask David if he has found any letters from her husband and, if so, whether he would send them to her.

At just 80 pages, Evidence of the Affair is told entirely through letters. Through Carrie and David's correspondence, we slowly uncover the truth about two marriages, an affair, and the dreams and expectations that have quietly eroded beneath the weight of everyday life.

Over the course of a year and a half, Carrie and David become each other's confidants. They offer support, understanding, and companionship during one of the most painful periods of their lives. Eventually, they meet for lunch. Later, when they discover their spouses are spending a weekend together, they decide to do the same.

Carrie ultimately returns home, divorces her husband, and moves in with her parents while she rebuilds her life. David chooses to stay with his wife. What happens during that shared weekend between Carrie and David is left largely to interpretation.

Or is it?

The final letter from Carrie includes the line:

"You gave me hope and perspective and confidence. Right before you gave me my baby."

Suddenly, what began as one couple's affair appears to have sparked another. Life is strange that way. Messy. Complicated. Human.

The story raises uncomfortable questions. Can anyone live an entirely honest life when temptation appears? Are we all capable of crossing lines we once swore we'd never cross?

At this stage in my life, I know where I stand. If I discovered my partner was having an affair, I would leave. There would be no dramatic speeches, no prolonged negotiations. I want a peaceful life, and for me, trust is the foundation of that peace. Once it's broken, I don't believe I could rebuild it.

One quote from the book stayed with me:

"It is funny the crazy things our brains make up to save us from the truth."

How true is that?

We protect ourselves with stories. We see what we want to see, believe what we want to believe, and sometimes remain in situations that no longer serve us because facing reality feels far more frightening than living with illusion.

Overall, I found this to be a frank, compassionate look at human weakness and resilience. Carrie reaches rock bottom, but that collapse becomes the catalyst for change. Losing everything forces her to find herself again. In the end, she gains something far more valuable than the relationship she lost: the courage to let go.

One of the hardest lessons in life is realizing that love is not enough to save something that has lost its honesty. We teach people how to treat us by what we tolerate, and sometimes the greatest act of self-respect is walking away.

People may not understand your choices. They may judge them. Let them.

Your life is not meant to be built around other people's opinions. It is meant to be built around your own peace.

And perhaps that's the deepest truth hidden within this little book: sometimes the end of the life you imagined is the beginning of the life you were meant to have. The truth may break your heart, but a lie will slowly break your spirit. Given enough time, the truth is always the kinder choice.

 

Homesick Nomad: Settling into an Untethered Life

 

Homesick Nomad: Settling into an Untethered Life 

By Brianna Madia

After finishing The Road to Tender Hearts on my drive home to Florida, I started Homesick Nomad: Settling into an Untethered Life by Brianna Madia. A round trip to my mom’s is about 20 hours, which usually means I can fit in two audiobooks. Brianna narrates this one herself, and listening to it felt like catching up with a friend.

I’ve followed Brianna and her adventurous, dog-filled life online for years…maybe close to ten. Because of social media, I thought I knew a lot about her story, but this book reveals the deeper layers behind what people see on the surface.

Homesick Nomad explores love, loss, identity, and what it means to remain true to yourself even when the world, and the internet, tries to tear you apart.

There’s a heaviness throughout the book, especially as Brianna navigates grief and the devastating impact of online bullying. But woven through that pain is resilience, growth, and moments of clarity that linger long after the chapter ends. Watching her confront her fears and slowly reclaim herself was deeply inspiring.

Seeing her journey come full circle, from heartbreak and divorce to finding love again, I personally felt inspired by her resilience to opening herself up to finding love again after all she had been through.

The book is packed with lessons about choosing the life that feels right for you, even when it doesn’t look like anyone else’s. One chapter that especially stood out to me focused on the choice not to have children. Why is that still something people judge so harshly? And for some people, it’s not even a choice. That part felt honest, vulnerable, and important.

I have a keychain that says, “Don’t let the bastards get you down,” and honestly, that sentiment fits this book perfectly. We get one life. Not one life approved by strangers. Just one life

Choose wisely. Live freely. Just live.

The online bullying Brianna endured was unbelievable. I was especially happy to hear about Selena, a woman who stepped in to help Brianna uncover the people behind the anonymous harassment and hold them accountable. Hearing that brought such a sense of justice and relief.

One quote that really stayed with me was:

“When someone wants to help you, it doesn’t always mean that they think you’re incapable. It might just mean that they love you.”

And maybe that’s the thread running through this entire story: that surviving isn’t just about enduring pain alone. It’s about finding the courage to keep choosing yourself and letting yourself be loved anyway.