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Friday, March 14, 2025

Book Review: The Tell: A Memoir by Amy Griffin-Memoir

Hello, dear Readers,

Below is my book review of The Tell: A Memoir by Amy Griffin


Title: The Tell: A Memoir
Rating: 5/5 Stars
Genre: Memoir
Author: Amy Griffin
Publisher: The Dial Press
Publication Date: March 11, 2025
Language: English
Hardcover: 288 pages
Meet the Author: Amy Griffin
Buy Me: Amazon

Book Description

NATIONAL BESTSELLER • OPRAH’S BOOK CLUB PICK • An astonishing memoir that explores how far we will go to protect ourselves and the healing made possible when we face our secrets and begin to share our stories

“A beautiful account of the journey of courage it takes to face the truth of one’s past.”—Bessel van der Kolk, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Body Keeps the Score

For decades, Amy ran. Through the dirt roads of Amarillo, Texas, where she grew up; to the campus of the University of Virginia, as a student athlete; on the streets of New York, where she built her adult life; through marriage, motherhood, and a thriving career. To outsiders, it all looked, in many ways, perfect. But Amy was running from something—a secret she was keeping not only from her family and friends, but unconsciously from herself. “You’re here, but you’re not here,” her daughter said to her one night. “Where are you, Mom?” So began Amy’s quest to solve a mystery trapped in the deep recesses of her own memory—a journey that would take her into the burgeoning field of psychedelic therapy, to the limits of the judicial system, and ultimately, home to the Texas panhandle, where her story began.

In her search for the truth, to understand and begin to recover from buried childhood trauma, Griffin interrogates the pursuit of perfectionism, control, and maintaining appearances that drives so many women, asking, when, in our path from girlhood to womanhood, did we learn to look outside ourselves for validation? What kind of freedom is possible if we accept the whole story and embrace who we really are? With hope, heart, and relentless honesty, she points a way forward for all of us, revealing the power of radical truth-telling to deepen our connections—with others and ourselves.

My Thoughts

This is one of the best memoirs I have read recently. 

I honestly was not expecting the main event to be. TW: Sexual Abuse, rape, childhood trauma. 

I was so intrigued by the start of the book and how the author runs, literally and metaphorically, and how by doing that, by putting herself through high standards of perfectionism and always wanting to do everything right, her mind, herself was able to suppress the trauma of her childhood of being sexually abused by her teacher. 

It was also interesting to learn how she was able to "recover" or remember all those memoirs through MDMA therapy and how observations made by her daughters helped her to realize and start her own healing journey. Her relationship with her family is one of the most touching elements throughout the book.

Thank you, The Dial Press and NetGalley, for the free advanced copy in exchange for an honest review. 


Wendy

Thursday, February 13, 2025

Book Review: Looking at Women, Looking at War: A War and Justice Diary by Victoria Amelina -Memoir

Hello, dear Readers,

Below is my book review of Looking at Women, Looking at War: A War and Justice Diary by Victoria Amelina.


Title: Looking at Women, Looking at War: A War and Justice Diary
Rating: 5/5 Stars
Genre: Memoir
Author: Victoria Amelina
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Publication Date: February, 2025
Language: English
Hardcover: 320 pages
Meet the Author: Victoria Amelina
Buy Me: Amazon

Book Description

"Unsparing and impossible-to-forget... its shape and urgency dictated by war and by its author’s shining life so abruptly shredded into night." ―The Telegraph

"An effortlessly compelling voice, simultaneously intimate and universal." ―Financial Times

Destined to be a classic, a poet’s powerful look at the courage of resistance.

WITH A FOREWORD BY MARGARET ATWOOD

When Russia invaded Ukraine on February 24, 2022, Victoria Amelina was busy writing a novel, taking part in the country’s literary scene, and parenting her son. Now she became someone new: a war crimes researcher and the chronicler of extraordinary women like herself who joined the resistance. These heroines include Evgenia, a prominent lawyer turned soldier, Oleksandra, who documented tens of thousands of war crimes and won a Nobel Peace Prize in 2022, and Yulia, a librarian who helped uncover the abduction and murder of a children’s book author.

Everyone in Ukraine knew that Amelina was documenting the war. She photographed the ruins of schools and cultural centers; she recorded the testimonies of survivors and eyewitnesses to atrocities. And she slowly turned back into a storyteller, writing what would become this book.

On the evening of June 27th, 2023, Amelina and three international writers stopped for dinner in the embattled Donetsk region. When a Russian cruise missile hit the restaurant, Amelina suffered grievous head injuries, and lost consciousness. She died on July 1st. She was thirty-seven. She left behind an incredible account of the ravages of war and the cost of resistance. Honest, intimate, and wry, this book will be celebrated as a classic.


My Thoughts

What a treat this book is. Sad, heartbreaking, infuriating, yes but at the same time a gem. As truthful, real, raw, honest as it can get. The account of the devastation Ukraine has suffered, and continues suffering from the war, the full-scale invasion which started almost three years ago. I command Victoria and all the other women she talks about in her book, whom like her, left their homes, children, professions, to help other people during the war, in any way they could, some of them even enlisting in the army, to fight in the front lines. A must read, definitely. Thank you, St. Martins Press, for the free, physical advanced copy.

Thank you, St. Martin's Press and NetGalley, for the free physical advanced copy, in exchange for an honest review. 


Wendy


Blog Tour: The Younger Woman: A Novel by Cate Ray-Women's Fiction

 

BLOG TOUR: THE YOUNGER WOMAN




Welcome to the Blog Tour for The Younger Woman: A Novel by Cate Ray




BOOK SUMMARY

A woman’s confession about her husband to an enigmatic stranger sparks a dangerous cat and mouse game in this riveting domestic thriller about divorce, manipulation, and revenge, perfect for fans of Sally Hepworth and Jeneva Rose.

Gabby and Fred have just begun to adapt to their new life as empty nesters when Gabby makes a stunning realization: She can't stand her husband.

One night at a bar, Gabby meets an enigmatic younger woman named Ellis, and in a haze of drunkenness, she confesses that she wishes Fred dead. Surely, she didn't expect anything to come of it, but when she tries to track Ellis down again, she realizes that Ellis might not have been who she said she was.

As Gabby begins to unravel the truth about Ellis and what Fred might be hiding, she is thrown into a whirlwind of lies and manipulation. How much is she willing to risk to expose the truth? And how will she get even?



ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Cate Ray is the author of Good Husbands (2022, Park Row) and four previous novels of suspense published in the UK under the name Cath Weeks. She was named an Author to Watch by ELLE. She lives in Bath with her family.





EXCERPT

One

How did we get here—when did things become so bad? There are so many triggers and alarm bells, I’m overheating with the effort of trying to pick just one. And now Alice is leaving and if I don’t get ahold of myself I’m going to miss it. 
Alongside our car, a student is saying goodbye to her parents, tucking in her camisole. Fred is watching her, instead of Alice. And I’m watching Fred, instead of Alice. 
She’s at the door of her accommodation block, about to disappear inside. And then, suddenly, she falters, looking back at us, twisting her fingers together. She may as well be in pigtails and a gingham dress on her first day of school. 
My seat belt snaps off. “Gabby…” Fred says. 
I’m already halfway up the path, pulling her into my arms, inhaling her hair. Alice, sweet Alice. 
I don’t want her to leave me. That’s the truth. I don’t want her to leave me with her father. I can’t bear it. Everything is heating, melting, as my entire system gives way to emotion. 
And then I stop myself. I can’t do this to her. I pull back, grasp her shoulders, my arms rigid like tent poles holding us together. “You’re going to have a wonderful time, sweetheart. This is an exciting new adventure.” 
She’s looking at me skeptically, but I don’t so much as breathe. I can be a tower for her. It’s only university; she’ll be home again in ten weeks. 
“Thanks,” she says, her blue eyes filling, becoming sealike. I see my mother in her then and remove my hands from her shoulders in case I’m gripping too hard. “I love you, Mom.” 
“And I love you too… Now go.” I give her a little pat, then watch as she keeps walking and this time she doesn’t look back. 
I think I’m going to die as the door closes behind her, and then it’s me standing there, faltering, looking behind me, twisting my fingers together. Except that’s it not my parents I’m in turmoil about, but my husband. There’s a huge distance between us, much further than the twenty steps it would take me to reach him. He’s not even looking at me. His head is turned toward two attractive girls sitting underneath a tree. I could be setting off a distress flare and he wouldn’t notice. 
Gazing at the door that swallowed Alice, I consider following her, hiding inside the laundry room for a few weeks. And then Fred honks the car horn and reluctantly I take those steps back to him. 
Inside the car, I sit with my bag on my lap, staring straight ahead. He knows not to say anything, starts the engine. I’m glad he’s driving, leaving me free to sob until I’m as dry as a raisin. He’s a steady driver, I’ll give him that. We’re at that stage after twenty-one years of marriage where I’m grateful for his practical skills. I’m sure he feels the same about me and my lasagna. 
As we slowly pull away, everything becomes a blur through my tears. I don’t know if it’s my hormones, but I’m overwhelmed: missing Alice, worrying about aging, wishing Fred wouldn’t look at this collage of youth as though I’m the crusty glue underneath that no one sees. 
I’m uncomfortably hot, even with the air-conditioning on. It’s very warm for September—shorts, strappy tops; a parade of gorgeousness. And just like me and my jumbled thoughts, Fred doesn’t know which way to look. 
Finally, as we pass through the entrance gates, he glances at me, patting my knee as though I’m man’s best friend. “She’ll be fine.” 
Our youngest has left home and that’s all he can say. “Aren’t you upset?” I stop crying for a moment, curious about his response. 
“Of course.” He doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “But this is what you encouraged her to do, wasn’t it? And she worked hard enough to get there. What’s the point in being upset? We can’t keep her tied up at home.” 
I don’t know about that. If there were a sane way to do it, I’d probably give it a go. 
I hiccup, gazing out the window, adding emotional detachment to the list of differences between us. Here I am, breaking my heart. And he’s tapping the wheel to “summer breeze, makes me feel fine,” the salmon tint of his shirt making him seem pinker than he is. I bought that for him. And he needs a haircut. The ancient scar on his knee is shimmering where he’s caught a tan from all the golf he’s played this summer. 
He’s good for fifty-two—doesn’t have to work as hard as I do to stay in shape, even though we’re the same age, our birthdays only a week apart; both Taurus. I always thought this was nice, but someone once said two bulls in one house? Brave! And it was one of those things that went around my head for longer than it should have. 
I don’t think of myself as a bull; sometimes I find it difficult to ask for what I need. And Fred is too tall for a bull. He’s less goofy and cheeky now he’s middle-aged, but every so often I see the old him—the way he was, with curls, John Lennon glasses. I start crying again. And this time, it’s for us. 
“She’ll be okay, won’t she?” 
He looks at me. “Yes.” 
We don’t say anything after that. I cry behind my shades all the way home, sucking my lip. It’s seventy-nine miles from Exeter to Shelby. It will be longer for Alice by train—nearly four hours. I’ll send her money so she can come home whenever she needs to. 
What if she never needs to? 
I hiccup again, but Fred doesn’t notice. I told him I was going to be okay today and he’s taken me at my word. 
I’ve been dreading it. It was bad enough when Will left for Edinburgh. And now he has a girlfriend, Zara, who wears cutoff shorts with the pockets hanging out. She’s lovely, very polite; but she’s twenty and in love with my son and there’s a tiny part of me that wishes she weren’t. 
At home, I don’t go straight inside but linger on the step, gazing at the baby oaks the children planted eight years ago when we moved in. The thing with trees is they stay where you put them. 
Inside the house, it smells of Alice’s perfume, which nearly sets me off again. 
“Will you be okay if I do an hour’s work?” Fred says, opening the door to the basement. 
“Go ahead. I’m seeing Jam later.” 
He smiles. “Well, if she can’t sort you out, then no one can.” 
But I wanted it to be you. 
That’s what I want to say. Yet it wouldn’t sound right, not anymore. Too much has changed between us. There have been too many little betrayals, and some not so little ones. 
“I’ll give you a shout before I go,” I say. “Would you like a coffee?” 
“No, thanks,” he calls out, already halfway down the stairs. 
The kitchen seems bigger than it was this morning, the breakfast bar stools painfully empty, Alice’s cereal bowl in the sink; I might keep it there for a few days. Opening the fridge, I remove a Pinot Grigio, pour a glass, taking it outside with a jar of olives. A breeze is rustling the palm trees on the patio, fluttering the surface of the pool. I take a seat, a cardigan draped over my shoulders like some Hollywood star. 
Sometimes it helps if I glamorize the situation, imagining myself delivering lines, acting out the pain on screen. Sometimes it doesn’t. To be honest, I feel a bit silly. 
I put my cardigan on properly, unscrewing the jar lid, chewing an olive, my eye drawn again to the oaks lining the border. They’ll be beautiful this autumn. It seems cruel that children fly the nest to university as the leaves begin to fall. Why couldn’t it be spring—give parents half a chance? 
I take a long drink of wine, twisting to look up at Alice’s turret. She wanted a sea view when we moved in. Ten years old and she knew a premium room when she saw it. Suddenly, I want to be up there, to lie on her bed among her abandoned clothes and stuffed toys. 
Upstairs, the room is surprisingly cool. I set the wine bottle on her dressing table, pouring myself another glass. “Well, cheers, baby girl.” 
Her bed looks inviting, despite the pile of ratty tracksuit bottoms. Don’t take those, Alice. 
I lie down, drawing my knees to my chest, hugging Big Bear, who smells of Alice’s coconut shampoo. She still uses her bear as a pillow. I cry again, gazing at the photo stuck haphazardly on the wardrobe door: her and Will last year, by our pool, hands draped around each other. 
My babies. Both gone. 

I’m somewhere up high, on a clifftop, the sea crashing beneath me. It takes me a moment and then I remember that I’ve been here before, locked inside this ghastly dream, and then dread begins to drain through me because I know what’s about to happen. 
I wrestle to wake up, but can’t. The rough gorse is grasping my ankles, locking me in place. I don’t want to watch but have to, can’t escape. He’s there now, standing too close to the edge. Fred? Or Will? Don’t let it be Will.
I writhe in panic, ripping my legs on the gorse. I call out, my voice lost against the roaring sea. Get away from the edge! Get away from there! I can’t move or even turn my head away. I know someone else is coming, can sense them drawing closer. I struggle again, screaming, as they shunt the man forward over the treacherous edge. 
I fight as hard as I can, my face wet with tears. And then I’m free. 

Sitting up, I stare around me, the back of my hair wet with perspiration. Letting go of Big Bear, I gather the wine bottle and glass, tiptoeing from Alice’s room. The house feels as empty and fragile as a greenhouse. Outside, the whisper of the sea sounds like passing traffic. I check the time on my phone: thirty minutes until I meet Jamillah. 
In my en suite bathroom, I feel sick with fatigue. My tongue feels bulbous and there’s a sleep line running all the way from my cheek to my chest, as though I’m a cardboard cutout that’s been folded in two, ready to lie flat for the night. 
I put on some makeup, fix up my hair, but that seems to accentuate my eyes—the fact that they’re puffy, swollen—so I let it down again, telling myself that this is as good as it’s going to get. I choose a T-shirt, jeans, and then head downstairs, knocking on Fred’s cave door. 
It smells of computer—that hot wire smell. “I’m off.” 
He looks up, removes his glasses, rubs the bridge of his nose. “Is it that time already?” 
I nod. “There’s pasta salad in the fridge.”  
“Thanks, my love.” He frowns at me. 
“You all right? You look a bit…” 
“I dozed off. And I had that nightmare again.” 
“It’s okay. Everything’s fine. I’m here. You’ll always have me.” He smiles, puts his glasses back on, focusing on the screen again. He works a lot of hours these days, more than he used to, but then so do I. 
He’s perfectly right though. The kids fly in and out like swallows, but good old Fred will always be here. 
“See you later,” I say. 
As I go down the driveway to the side gate, I check my phone to see if Alice has messaged. She hasn’t. I wonder what she’s doing. I think about texting her, but don’t. It’s not going to help her to let go, move on. 
It’s a ten-minute walk to the seafront. I don’t see anyone as I go. My thoughts swirl, froth about and by the time I enter the bar, I know I’m going to have to tell Jam what I finally admitted to myself today about Fred: I absolutely hate him.

Excerpted from THE YOUNGER WOMAN by Cate Ray. Copyright © 2025 by Cate Ray. Published by Park Row Books, an imprint of HarperCollins.


BOOK INFORMATION

The Younger Woman

Author: Cate Ray

Publication Date: February 25, 2025

ISBN: 9780778368335

Park Row Paperback


Buy Links:

HarperCollins page: https://www.harpercollins.com/products/the-younger-woman-cate-ray?variant=42629286952994 

BookShop.org: https://bookshop.org/a/397/9780778368335 

Barnes & Noble: http://aps.harpercollins.com/hc?isbn=9780778368335&retailer=barnesandnoble 

Amazon: https://www.amazon.ca/Younger-Woman-Novel-Cate-Ray/dp/0778368335 


Social Links:

Author Website: https://cateray.co.uk/ 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CateRayWriter/ 

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/cateraywriter/ 




Thank you to Cheryl Lee at Harlequin for inviting me to the Blog Tour.

Monday, January 13, 2025

Book Review: The Note: A Novel by Alafair Burke- Psychological Thriller

Hello, dear Readers,

My book review of The Note: A Novel by Alafair Burke.


Title: The Note: A Novel
Rating:  5/5 Stars
Genre: Psychological Thriller
Author: Alafair Burke
Publisher: Knopf
Publication Date: January 07, 2025
Language: English
Hardcover: 304 pages
Meet the Author: Jessie Garcia
Buy Me: Amazon

Book Description

A vacation in the Hamptons goes terribly wrong for three friends with a complicated history.

“I absolutely loved 
The Note. Trust no one in this irresistible page-turner.” —Ashley Elston, #1 New York Times best-selling author of First Lie Wins

It was meant to be a harmless prank.


Growing up, May Hanover was a good girl, always. Well-behaved, top of her class, a compulsive rule-follower. Raised by a first-generation Chinese single mother with high expectations, May didn’t have room to slip up, let alone fail. Her friends didn’t call her the Little Sheriff for nothing.

But even good girls have secrets. And regrets. When it comes to her friendship with Lauren and Kelsey, she's had her fair share of both. Their bond—forged when May was just twelve years old—has withstood a tragic accident, individual scandals, heartbreak and loss. Now the three friends have reunited for the first time in years for a few days of sun and fun in the Hamptons. But a chance encounter with a pair of strangers leads to a drunken prank that goes horribly awry.

When she finds herself at the center of an urgent police investigation, May begins to wonder whether Lauren and Kelsey are keeping secrets from her, testing the limits of her loyalty to lifelong friends.

What had they gone and done?

The Note is a page-turner of the highest order from one of our greatest contemporary suspense writers.

My Thoughts

2025 got off to a great start, definitely. All these new thriller books are killers. 

I went into this one completely blind, and oh God, what a great read. 

I love it when I cannot figure out a book, meaning knowing who did it from the beginning. I like the book to keep me going until it can no more. 

The Note is a fast-paced, twisty, well-written story. With a brilliant plot and well-crafted characters. And a very unexpected ending. I seriously could not put it down. 

TW: Suicide. Murder, Fertility Issues, not allowed relationships, complicated family relationships, COVID-19

Thank you, Knopf and Netgalley, for the Free Advanced Copy in exchange for an honest review.


Wendy 



Book Review: The Business Trip: A Novel by Jessie Garcia- Psychological Thriller

Hello, dear Readers,

My book review of The Business Trip: A Novel by Jessie Garcia.


Title: The Business Trip: A Novel
Rating:  5/5 Stars
Genre: Psychological Thriller
Author: Jessie Garcia
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Publication Date: January 14, 2025
Language: English
Hardcover: 352 pages
Meet the Author: Jessie Garcia
Buy Me: Amazon

Book Description

"A stunning and accomplished debut, with hugely relatable characters and an addictive storyline that kept me turning the pages well into the night. Bravo!" --BA Paris, New York Times bestselling author

"Wow, The Business Trip was nonstop twists and turns. I loved the unusual way that the story was told, and I kept reading all day long because I couldn't wait to see how it ended!" -- Freida McFadden, New York Times bestselling author.

THE BUSINESS TRIP is the gripping, page-turning debut from author Jessie Garcia.

Stephanie and Jasmine have nothing and everything in common. The two women don’t know each other but are on the same plane. Stephanie is on a business trip, and Jasmine is fleeing an abusive relationship. After a few days, they text their friends the same exact messages about the same man―the messages becoming stranger and more erratic.

And then the two women vanish. The texts go silent, the red flags go up, and the panic sets in. When Stephanie and Jasmine are each declared missing and in danger, it begs the question: Who is Trent McCarthy? What did he do to these women― or what did they do to him?

Twist upon twist, layer upon layer, where nothing is as it seems, The Business Trip takes you on a descent into the depths of a mastermind manipulator. But who is playing who?

My Thoughts

This was my last read of 2024, and OMG. WOW. What a surprise. I LOVED IT.

I could not stop reading it. Fast-paced and well-written, and the plot and the story are unique.

I must say, though, Trent McCarthy is one of the worst characters I have ever encountered, but also BRILLIANT. I can definitely see why this is needed in the story. 

I am so happy I got to read this book. It is so good, and I definitely recommend it. 

Thank you, St. Martin's Press and Netgalley, for the Free Advanced Copy in exchange for an honest review.


Wendy 

Tuesday, December 3, 2024

Book Review: Seven Deadly Sins: The Biology of Being Human by Dr. Guy Leschziner- Behavioral Sciences

Hello, dear Readers,

Below is my book review of Seven Deadly Sins: The Biology of Being Human by Dr. Guy Leschziner.


Title: Seven Deadly Sins: The Biology of Being Human
Rating: 5/5 Stars
Genre: Behavioral Sciences
Author: Dr. Guy Leschziner
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Publication Date: December 03, 2024
Language: English
Hardcover: 384 Pages
Meet the Author: Guy Leschziner
Buy Me: Amazon

Book Description

FINANCIAL TIMES BEST BOOK OF THE YEAR

Seven Deadly Sins will explore the underlying nature of the seven deadly sins, their neuroscientific and psychological basis, and their origin in our genes.

Gluttony. Greed. Sloth. Pride. Envy. Lust. Anger. These are The Seven Deadly Sins, the vices of humankind that define immorality. But do these sins really represent moral failings, or are they simply important and useful biological functions that humans need to survive? Instead of being acts of immorality, are they really just a result of how our bodies, our psyches, and our brains in particular, are wired? In Seven Deadly Sins: The Biology of Being Human, Guy Leschziner, a professor of neurology, dares to turn much of what society thinks of as morality on its head and to ask these controversial questions.

Leschziner takes readers on an exploration of the Seven Deadly Sins as he looks at their neuroscientific and psychological bases, their origin in our genes, and, crucially, how certain medical disorders may give rise to them. He introduces us to patients whose physical and psychological conditions have given rise to behaviours that have for centuries been labelled as “sin” and how these behaviours might actually be evolutionary imperatives that preserve the tribe and ensure the wellbeing of our societies. In Seven Deadly Sins, a book certain to cause debate and raise controversy, Guy Leschziner, a writer who has explored the mysteries of our sleeping brains and the odd crossed wires of our five senses, asks whether these traits truly represent sin, or simply reflect our intrinsic drive to survive and thrive.

My Thoughts

This book was not what I was expecting at all, in a good way. I expected a purely religious approach to the sins, but it was more than that. I was surprised at how informative and easy to understand Dr. Guy's thoughts and explanations are. Thought-provoking and very unique. Overall, a good book.


Thank you, St. Martin's Press and NetGalley, for the free advanced copy in exchange for an honest review. 


Wendy

Tuesday, November 19, 2024

Blog Tour: You Can't Hurt Me: A Novel by Emma Cook-Women's Fiction

 

BLOG TOUR: YOU CAN'T HURT ME




Welcome to the Blog Tour for You Can't Hurt Me: A Novel by Emma Cook



BOOK SUMMARY

The Silent Patient meets Rebecca in this twisty debut about the mysterious death of a woman with congenital analgesia, a rare condition where she can't feel any pain – and an obsessive journalist who will stop at nothing to uncover her most dangerous secrets.

Meet Eva, who can’t feel pain, and Anna, who can’t escape it.

Everyone has heard about the case of Eva Reid. Ever since she was born, she’s been immune to physical pain – she can get a paper cut, break a limb, and even give birth without feeling a single thing. Her rare condition has long-captivated reporters and researchers – including Dr. Nate Reid, Eva’s husband and acclaimed scientist renowned for his work in The Pain Laboratory. Also among them is Anna Tate, a ruthless journalist with a dark past of her own.

When Eva is suddenly found dead inside her home, it raises a flurry of questions around the last night of her life – and who might’ve been involved. Anna finds herself growing increasingly obsessed with Eva’s case: her cloistered, painless existence, her promising career as a psychotherapist, and especially her toxic relationship to Dr. Reid, whom she met and married as his former patient. But what other secrets could they be hiding?

When Dr. Reid embarks on the process of writing a book about Eva, Anna makes sure she’s first in line to work on the project with him. As she slowly inserts herself into their home and seeks to uncover what’s fact and what’s fiction, shocking discoveries await her – and not everyone may come out unscathed…



ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Emma Cook has been an editor at the Guardian for 16 years, commissioning on Guardian Weekend, editing her own section Do Something and now assistant editor and travel editor on the Observer magazine. She has written for a range of titles including the Guardian, the Independent, the Times, the Daily Telegraph, ES Magazine, Elle and Psychologies. She is an alumna of the Faber Academy's six-month Writing A Novel course, and You Can't Hurt Me is her debut novel.





EXCERPT

7 December 2022, 7:30 p.m. 

I am a ghost in the room tonight. A shadow no one will notice, exactly as it should be. Guests arrive, flowing toward the heat and hum of the glass atrium at the back of the bookshop. Turning my back to them, I retreat farther into the deserted aisles of Anthropology, reach for a slim volume, inhale the flutter of air as my thumb zips through the pages. I wait for that aroma, dry and sweet, biscuits and sawdust to work its usual magic, a sensory hit that never fails to reassure me. Until now. Books used to be an escape. A window to another world that for a short time might alter me in some unfathomable way. But I’ve been too close to them, seen how they can taint and twist the truth. 

I slip into the atrium packed with a hundred or so more guests. It is easy enough to lose myself here, hovering at the back behind a pillar. I’ve been paid to melt away into the ether, but I doubt they’ll be looking out for me. 

So why risk coming along at all, what will it solve? His book is displayed on a table next to me in a tower of carefully spiraled spines, a DNA strand to show every angle. On top a hardback copy is perched upright, his name embossed across the front in glossy black. I imagine teasing out the bottom copy, watching them topple to the floor. The cover is luxuriant, creamy, a lily in one corner. It could be a bereavement card. 

In a way, it is. Loss in fifty shades of vanilla. In those pages resides a version of his wife, Eva, much-loved, much-missed, much-constructed, packaged up for public consumption. The other ghost in the room tonight. 

It is his back I see first as he walks through the crowd. Briefly he turns around and from my vantage point I watch him, this stranger who only three months ago I thought I knew so well. He pauses to chat to someone, draws his fingers through the back of his hair, letting his hand rest at the nape of his neck, something I know he does when he’s tired or anxious. He looks a little older this evening, a little grayer, a scattering of salt at his temples, a silvery haze of stubble at his jawbone. I see now, or is it wishful thinking, how the past few months have punished him too. He is leaner perhaps, his face more angular. His brow bones protrude a little, lending him an almost hawkish glare. 

From my vantage point, I spy an attentive young woman as she approaches him, offering up an open copy of the memoir, the shadow of a smile as they connect. Even from here I can see she is transfixed, caught up in whatever he is telling her, that way he has diverted the conversation and channeling it elsewhere. 

He pauses, bites his lip, and I see something new in his expression, a tentativeness perhaps as he excuses himself from the guest, disappears into his public persona. Slowly he climbs the spiral staircase to a gallery that circles the room and by the time he’s at the top, he has become Dr. Nate Reid, any shade of hesitation vanished. 

Priya, his editor, is already there, smiling down at the crowd. Everything about her is sharp and precise, the cut of her pale silk dress cinched at the waist, the razored line of her dark glossy bob tucked neatly behind each ear. She taps her ring against a champagne flute and the clamor subsides. 

“Hello, everyone. Thanks so much for coming tonight. I’d like to start by saying what a privilege and an honour it has been working on this book.” She turns and raises her glass to him, her hand touching his arm. 

“Nate’s instinct for storytelling is rare and inspiring. Many of us are used to hearing about Dr. Reid as a distinguished neuroscientist and TV personality, so it has been even more impressive to discover his gift for personal writing, his unflinching honesty and extraordinary ability to let the reader in.” 

As she hands it over to him, there’s a peal of applause. Unflinching honesty? Here’s to fantasy fiction. 

He clears his throat and steps toward the balcony edge. “I’d like to return Priya’s compliment and say how deeply satisfying it has been collaborating with her.” He touches her hand. “One silver lining in my journey is that it has brought me here tonight. To be here with so many friends who have given me their unstinting support. In a strange sort of way, it’s like Eva’s last gift to me. I feel very loved.” 

He falters, falls silent for a moment. 

Priya passes him a glass of water and there is a tingling anticipation as the silence stretches. 

“When I started this book, I was overwhelmed. My first thought was, why would anyone do this? Then I realized here is a golden opportunity. My chance to help others in a similar situation. There are more of us around than you’d think.” He looks down at us, as if seeking out other grief-stricken souls in the crowd. “No one can really bear the truth that every minute of our life hangs by a thread. However much we think we can script our own existence and try to ensure nothing bad can ever happen to us, it does and it will.”

His index finger silently strikes the iron balcony rail, in sync with the rhythm of his words. “To each and every one of us. Tonight, tomorrow, at some point. Of course, that’s why memoirs about grief are so popular. They’re a window to a world that one day we’ll all inhabit, if we haven’t already. It’s only a matter of time.” He grips a copy of the book, raising it up. 

“Eva was an extraordinary person, someone who radiated optimism, a hunger for life. As many of you are aware, she was best known as a sculptor, her work was widely regarded. She also made headlines around the world when I first diagnosed her with a rare medical condition, congenital analgesia, the inability to experience pain. But pain is nature’s alarm system helping to protect us, or as C.S. Lewis once put it, ‘God’s megaphone to rouse a deaf world.’ The value of pain is only evident when you see its absence. Which was why Eva was the most fearless person I ever knew, but the most vulnerable too.” 

Guests lean in, heads tilt and crane. One woman tucks loose hair behind her ear in the hope of catching more. That voice. Gentle, well-spoken. Articulate and low. Gravel and smoke. He’s lectured around the world, been interviewed by the New York Times and doorstepped by the Sun. As his reputation grows, his words became quieter, loaded with a particular power. 

A waitress passes with a tray of champagne and reluctantly I shake my head. It’s been five months since I touched a drink. Five months since that night at Algos House. Now I can’t help wondering if everything would have turned out quite as it did if I’d kept a clear head the whole time. I sip on a flute of orange juice, watch as he effortlessly ramps up his performance. 

“I wanted to examine how you carry on after something like this, how to accept the horror of it. To come back home one evening and discover, in an instant, that my wife had died. How do you begin to make sense of it?” 

How indeed. 

“Death is the great leveler, even for those who appear to be invincible.” He pauses, eyes shining. “Because it shows us who we really are, and reveals how much we truly love the person we have lost. Here’s to Eva. Tonight is for you.” 

He raises his glass as a tide of rapturous applause swells. It takes a moment or two, as the clapping subsides, to identify another noise in the crowd. A shriek. Like a contagion it spreads through the room, palpable and urgent. 

“Murderer! We know what you did!” 

I swallow hard. There are ripples of movement close to the door, security staff swarm, a scuffle ensues. “Justice for my sister!” she shouts, saying something else inaudible before she is bundled outside and removed from the event, leaving the crowd murmuring in her wake. I know I should leave but I’m frozen to the spot. 

Back up at the gallery, Priya steps steadily in front of him. “Well, I guess grief affects us all in different ways,” she says. “And hopefully Nate’s book will offer comfort and understanding to anyone who’s suffered great loss. As a publisher, I couldn’t ask for more. Nate’s on his way down now to sign copies so do buy one and see what all the fuss is about.” 

He appears, unphased, unflustered, his enigmatic reserve intact. There is nothing like the fury of a scorned woman to add intrigue, allure even. Priya knows this, so does he. Scandal swirls around him, somehow raising his stock rather than dimming it. I watch as he works the room. 

“Well, that was all highly entertaining, wasn’t it?” says a woman next to me, her breath ripe with wine and crisps. “Who was she?” 

“I’m not sure,” I lie. “Eva’s sister, I guess?” 

“Ah, the disgruntled sibling desperate for the true story to be told. Delicious.” She regards me for a moment and there’s a flicker of recognition in her eyes. 

She seems familiar, but I can’t quite place her. “Maybe a bit misery memoir for my liking,” she says, her tone conspiratorial. “But a great idea. Whoever got him to do it was completely on the money. Even more so if the sister doesn’t like it. I’m Jane. Jane Burton by the way. Mail On Sunday. And you?” 

I should have known; the over-highlighted hair and green quilt jacket are a giveaway. She swooshes the bubbles around her mouth and studies me as if I’m a puzzle to be solved. There’s that familiar glint in her eyes that I have grown to recognize down the years, a precise and very familiar brand of curiosity, watching from the sidelines, prying, insinuating, picking away. It’s part of the job, until it becomes part of you. 

“So you’re covering the book,” I ask. 

“Yes, we ran first serial last Sunday. Triumph over tragedy, the usual.” She shrugs lightly. “Still, if you cry, you buy, they say.” She smiles briefly, moves in a little closer so I can see a smear of fuchsia lipstick on her front tooth. I’m repelled by something in her that feels too close to home. I shudder slightly, step away from her, but she inches closer, as if we’re both coconspirators. 

“Good-looking, isn’t he? In that rather obvious way.” She crooks her head to one side, her eyes slide over him. 

“I guess, I hadn’t really noticed.” 

“What a horrible thing to happen. I don’t think you ever get over something like that, do you?” 

“I hear he’s doing pretty well.” 

“I wonder if he wrote it all himself?” Her steady look unnerves me. “A lot of them get help these days, don’t they?” 

“I wouldn’t know. If they choose to have a ghostwriter, it’s usually kept a secret.” A flush prickles my neck and spreads upward. 

I make my excuses and head for the exit, via Memoir & Autobiography for old time’s sake. The siren-call of those glittering lives on display spilling all—fame, grief, misery and addiction. “Read all about me, me, me,” they seem to echo, screaming for attention. I walk to the end of the aisle and stop in my tracks. There he is with Priya, standing just yards away. 

Something in me deflates, and I know that it’s all over. He talks quietly, rapidly, and Priya nods in affirmation, her head dipped. 

They carry on, deep in conversation. As I walk briskly past them toward the door, he looks up and our eyes lock. Priya reaches for his arm, but he pushes her away, starts toward me as I turn to the exit. 

“Wait,” he shouts after me. But I don’t turn back. I have spent too long under his skin and now it’s time to burrow out. I won’t be another acolyte like Priya. I don’t deserve Eva’s fate. 

I take off my heels, stuff them into my bag and start to run. Away from him. Still, I hear his voice, urgent and cracked, calling my name. I turn a corner and break into a sprint, my bare soles slap the cold wet pavement. Keep going, I tell myself, my breath ragged, my lungs burning. Only two questions keep circling. 

What did you do to Eva? 

What could you do to me?


Excerpted from YOU CAN’T HURT ME by Emma Cook, Copyright © 2024 by Emma Cook. Published by Hanover Square Press, an imprint of HarperCollins.



BOOK INFORMATION

You Can't Hurt Me 

Emma Cook

ISBN: 9781335430489

Publication Date: November 5, 2024

Publisher: Hanover Square Press


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Thank you to Cheryl Lee at Harlequin for inviting me to the Blog Tour.