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Please welcome our guest reviewer today! Let’s see what she has to say. Take it away, V.B… Thank you! ♥ Requiem for Barbara by Branka Čubrilo  https://books2read.com/u/3JelNA This book tells the story of a daughter’s journey to understand her impressively complex mother who died too young, and frankly lived life too hard. Through a series of letters and visits with her father, her mother’s parents, and her mother’s lost love, Lora gets a taste of her mother as a person. But, getting her questions answered didn’t help her as much as she’d hoped. The writing enabled me to take the journey with Lora in an never ending pursuit of truth through knowledge. At the end, she got what she thought she wanted, only to learn this did not give her the results she’d hoped for. Finding our place in this world is hard. And the only way to get there is to experience situations like Lora’s. I found the book cathartic and confusing at times…which was how I think Lora must have felt. Meanwhile, it helped define what a true identity crisis can feel like. And it gave me a taste of the immigrant experience. NOTE: I was provided a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review. I give this book 4 stars because it was full of complex people and reflected true living.  Image by Tammy Osaokia from Pixabay. Book Blurb: When Barbara dies in Sydney, Australia, her daughter Lora finds a series of hidden letters addressed to her estranged father, Ted. Upon reading the letters, Lora realizes that she never really knew Barbara, except as a mother. She uncovers family secrets, sad and hurtful lies, and an array of fascinating people she never knew had made an impact on her mother’s life. Spurred by these new facts and discoveries, Lora decides to travel to Europe, to her mother’s hometown. In a chance encounter, she meets Davor—a world-famous, yet mysterious figure who was the cause of both Barbara and Lora’s happiness and sadness, as these emotions emerge entangled, intertwined by his story and fascinating past. The novel traverses Sydney, London and Düsseldorf, where the characters grapple with identity, belonging, and how we find solace amongst life’s biggest challenges and questions. Universal Reader link: https://books2read.com/u/3JelNA Here’s an excerpt from the book… My mother has died. For days after her burial, I did not know where to turn to. I am eighteen years old. I only had her; she died believing so. She left me a small apartment, furniture, paintings on the walls, a computer desk, and the computer on it. My first thought, my first impulse, was to sell all her belongings, to liberate myself from the unbearable pain. The pain sat on my chest and shoulders and in each moment, it seemed to me that mother was going to step into the living room from her study, deprived of sleep. The pain never lessened, but I understood that all around me was what was left to me after her passing away. Whatever I looked at, it spoke of her. Soon after her death, I sat at her desk in her study. My mother was a writer, and that was the way she tried to make our living. I always believed she was the best writer in the whole wide world . . . but she didn’t have much success. She published several short stories in women’s periodicals, a collection of poetry . . . she was far ahead of her time. Sitting there at her desk, I started to pull the drawers out to examine their contents. The contents in the drawers were in perfect order―which was not typical of my mother. She was not the victim of any kind of order. In the lowest and widest drawer, I found a cardboard folder tied up with a yellow ribbon. On the folder was written ‘Letters to Ted’. So, it looked like―she still remembered Ted. It was quite a thick folder as it contained numerous sheets of paper. I started to read the papers in the order they were placed. Hi Ted, It was raining on the day you walked out. Miserable, it looks like rain accompanies all separations. I can’t even call it separation, as you left without a word. Lora came in and asked me what was written in the letter I was holding in my hand. I said, “Ted’s gone”. She fell silent. In her angelic eyes, I saw sadness. She did not cry, her petite, narrow face battled with a wild storm of emotions. Then, she said quietly, “He’s gone for good.” She knew that you had gone forever this time. I nodded my head. I could not utter a word, I was afraid of my own voice. She never cried for you, Ted. You coached her how to handle her emotions. After a while, they called me from her school. They told me her marks had dropped; her eyes were red and teary, often. I explained that her father had left us. Her father, Ted. You (who would doubt it often), you are her father. There were too many discrepancies between us, Ted. When we got married, I was already pregnant. I conceived a child with you. When you left, I did not know whether that was better or worse for Lora. We were teaching her different things, constantly. The things that were valuable and honorable in my culture and tradition were unimportant and cheap to you. You had contempt for tenderness, calling it weakness; you mocked sincerity, calling it indiscretion. The things she had to hide from you she would whisper in my ear at night when I would come into her room to tuck her in. You would say, “Why are you covering her five times every night? You will spoil her, make her weak. Let her toughen up.” Why did you allow her to walk the streets barefoot in winter? It used to horrify me. It used to horrify me! You never asked me anything about my country nor about my past. Why? Were you afraid I might ask you the same questions? It all was below your interest, below your level. And so, my own past was suppressed in some strange liminal space where I had sealed the doors tightly shut. (They were sealed with padlocks, one thousand tons heavy, a thousand tons of silence, a thousand tons of concrete . . . with padlocks that seemed as if they would never be unlocked, or broken, with padlocks rusted like the ones in the stories of locked princesses . . . like the ones in the stories with a tragic end, because the main protagonist fell ill of a rare illness that came from a silence weighing one thousand tons . . .) But look, now I want to tell you: I had my country, and I had my past. Even though it looks like a dream now, dreamt long ago (which I dreamt when I was very young), but the one I still remember. You hid your past, for you were not proud of it; it was not ‘good enough’ for you; therefore, you narrated a different one. I could not talk about my past because you were not interested in it (as if it were shameful). But I was proud of it. My first and only love was a painful affair. I left because of him, believing (still too young to understand) that I would forget him. Six months have passed since you left. Lora has never asked about you. Since you left, she has been very quiet, her self-esteem has been very fragile. She has completely lost interest in the violin. When I ask her, what would make her happy, she only shrugs her shoulders and says, “I don’t know.”’ That’s how the first letter my mother wrote to Ted ended. I did not know were these copies of the letters she sent to Ted, or were they letters Ted never received? Letters never sent. My mother was unhappy. I understood that from the first letter. Anyway, I always felt her sadness. (She carried me inside her!). I believed that her sadness came from Ted’s departure and the difficulties of finding a publisher for her novels. But I was wrong. She was not sad because of Ted’s leaving. I was sad because of it. I felt that in these letters, all her life was contained―the history of her hometown, her family, and the history of one love. I put down that letter and with trembling fingers, I took another. I slid my fingers down the sheet of paper. All her letters were written on the same date―on the second day of June every year until the last one. Every year on my birthday, she wrote him a letter about me and about her. And about Dado – her first love. Why did she do it? Barbara was sad. Her sentences were heavily colored with cynicism. I never knew her being cynical. If she did not love him, why did she reproach his departure so much? Wounded ego? Or was it because he left her without any money? Or was she so sad because of me? Tears were rolling down my cheeks while I picked up a new letter. The letters danced in front of my teary eyes. BOOK INFO: AUTHOR: Branka Čubrilo TITLE: Requiem for Barbara GENRE: Literary Fiction, Drama, Family Literature RELEASE DATE: May 25, 2023 PUBLISHER: Speaking Volumes ISBN/ASIN: B0C6FSWFDD OUR RATING: 4 stars REVIEWED BY: V.B. “Can Do Indie Author” Guest Blogger/Reviewer Bio:  V.B. is an indie author who writes romance and Sci-Fi, and voraciously reads anything (with some limits). When she’s not reading and writing, she’s working a day job to pay for her truck habit and puttering around her house. Great! Thanks for this review, Virginia, and for stopping by the blog! :) Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog post here. 
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Please welcome our guest reviewer today! Let’s see what she has to say. Take it away, V.B… Thank you! ♥ One Visit by George Veck  https://books2read.com/u/bMVAM8 Grit. Drugs. Sex. Muck. Bleak. Hopeless. Death. Prison. This book holds back no punches. What is life really like when chemicals overtake us? Dark and dreary, yet honest, this book shares the truth of the worst of us. I don’t see this as a crime story. It’s more like the dark side of humanity relating to drug use. The cops are as brutal as the “crooks.” And the brothers try, but cannot overcome their circumstances. I liked the ending, though. I hope Dazzler wins. I hope Frankie survives. But realistically, it’s death or worse coming for them. If Frankie doesn’t OD, he’ll have to get clean. Then what? What hope can he have? What about Dazzler? His options are fewer. If you’ve not been an addict, this book may scare you. If you know an addict or an abused person, this book may give you a taste of how bad things were for them. If you have survived something like this life, this book may give you a cathartic emotional journey, or even trigger you. Finally, this book is functionally hard to read. Welsh, slang, and Welsh-English don’t always make sense to this Yank. The POV shifts between all characters all the time. You may get lost or confused. However, if I were stoned out of my mind, life may feel that way to me, so I wonder if the author made it confusing on purpose. NOTE: I was provided a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review. I give this book 4 stars because it was viscerally hard to read. No one should live like this, but we do.  Ranking Vectors by Vecteezy. Book Blurb: In sleepy, rural North Wales, Frankie Gibbs, a recently laid off, aimless twenty-year-old on Universal Credit, wants nothing more than to keep his younger brother out of the care system. He single-handedly takes this upon himself while their alcoholic, cocaine-addict, single-parent father, Guy Gibbs, heaps misery on their lives through systematic abuse and his never-ending wild parties. After Guy is sent to prison, Frankie is coerced into opening his home to Justin, an acquaintance from his school days now turned drug dealer, while his own addiction and self-worth spiral beyond recognition. Trigger warnings: One Visit contains themes of mental and physical abuse, rape, and drug use. Universal Reader link: https://books2read.com/u/bMVAM8 What are other people saying about One Visit? “One Visit is an astonishing debut. It's raw, shocking, disturbing, insightful, and dark, pretty much from start to finish. There are flashes of wit but, in the main, it's a full-frontal assault with the truth of physical, psychological, social, and political deterioration in a beautiful part of Wales.” – Persiflage O'Brien, Amazon ''Thought-provoking, shocking, and engaging, author George Veck’s ‘One Visit’ is a must-read crime drama. The horrors that the protagonist and his brother endure as the narrative descends further and further into chaos hone in on the growing problem of drug abuse and violence as a whole around the world, and will speak to readers on a very distinct level. If you haven’t yet, be sure to grab your copy today!'' – author Anthony Avina’s blog “One Visit makes you think while you are reading. It opens your eyes because these characters grow on you and you hope that somehow Frankie and Dazzler will escape their life, while realizing they are too far in for help.” – Karen Lee, Goodreads “The author has passion, feelings, and descriptive writing to a tee.” – Mark Fearn, Goodreads “I really enjoyed the honest look into the life of drug users and the dealers. Yes, at times, it was a difficult read, but the uniqueness of both the plot and the characters kept me intrigued and wanting to read on. I thought the characters were well done. They felt realistic, and although there were some unlikeable characters, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for them.” – Books by Mani blog ''One Visit is a raw, uncompromising novel exploring a grimly compelling and contemporary world of drug addiction with its predators and prey. A brutally good read that’s well worth a look.” – Rose Auburn, Goodreads “There is a strong substance abuse theme throughout the book written in a real way. I recommend this book and approach it with an open mind as the author gives us a look at what many people face daily, the burden of addiction.” – Stuart Brkn Johns, Goodreads “Every little detail in the narrative, the use of slang native to drug users, (I was thankful for a few of the footnotes) all works to blend in this documentary-style book. As a reader, you are invested in a story but still remain a spectator. You can see what they cannot, frustrating as that might be, because you know the outcome of it all won't be sunshine and rainbows.” – Michelle, Goodreads Here’s an excerpt from the book… Frankie Gibbs' sunken eyes burst open. His underweight, sweaty midriff springs upwards and leans against the bed frame, panting and gasping for air. He's safe this time, although it takes him the thick side of sixty seconds to realize. He stretches over to his stale bedside half pint of water to sooth his parched throat. A desperate orange piss level of parched, amplified by shutting his stuffy room’s windows to both keep spiders and next door’s rotten month-old garden bin bag stench out. Dread seeps in, not helped by his first sight of the day, a plethora of grubby beer cans and pot noodle packets varying in age littering the dim room. To add insult to injury, a familiar warm sensation around his crotch area becomes increasingly apparent, a stinging itch on the thigh. An absolute disaster, the level of sting means only one thing, it happened early in the night. Leaving more time for the piss to penetrate the plastic protection sheet and seep into the springy mattress. A peak under the covers at his drenched Primark pajama bottoms confirms all suspicions, it's happened again. Undoubtedly, the chugging of eight pint cans of Galleryx lager to get through a Film4 Steven Seagal marathon headlined by 'On Deadly Ground' played its part. Frankie gazes over to the corner of the room and grimaces, his clean sheet pile's as bare as his stomach. Barring a miraculous end to his father Guy Gibbs' five-year housework hiatus, it'll be a sheetless night tonight. Frankie's unproductive, leisurely bedroom-bound night on the piss all but guarantees that no washing was done. He strips the sheets off the bed so roughly that it shreds down the seam. About time one would say, given its ancient cult status within the family after being passed through two generations. But with a three week wait until his next universal credit payment and left down to one currently dirty sheet, it couldn't have happened at a worse time. Frankie wraps the manky sheets forcefully into a ball and heads authoritatively for the bathroom. A door downstairs clatters and he freezes in the hallway, the location of a catalogue of septic foot wounds caused by the perilously high pointing nails sticking out of the uneven floorboard. Nobody comes up the stairs, all clear. He storms for the bathroom. Off come the damp pyjamas, but his trousers, seemingly glued to his legs, prove far from a breeze to rip off. Stuffed in head first with all of his might, the dirty laundry initially fits in the washing basket. But after Frankie collapses onto the shower cubicle floor without noticing, it slowly expands and ends up hanging out of the open lid, dripping with piss and sweat. He stuffs his head into his hands as tears trail between his fingers. An unnerving racket from the disastrously unsafe shower fitting, that's at least ten years overdue for replacing ensures his anonymity in the paper thin walled terraced house where most is heard between rooms. Horizontal fresh razor wounds on his right shoulder partially open up and ooze out a touch of blood. Meters away down in the living room, Frankie's long-time friend Alfie Fenner stands leaning his elbow on an enormous snooker cue case. Caked in Dax wax, with slicked back hair and wearing a grey suit jacket, he's way out of place in these most unglamorous of surroundings, the presentability of which isn't helped by the unofficial house servant’s self-imposed night off on the piss. Guy's stain-ridden high vis jacket, sported at last night’s heavy pound-a-pint session down at the local, is of stark contrast and befitting to the houses disarray. His supervisor role on a building site, which he's casually two hours late for today, allows him the privilege of washing it as he feels. Guy's youngest son Dazzler makes the most of his teacher shortage enforced half school day by gloomily pursuing Premier League and European glory with Liverpool on Fifa career mode. An epic challenge given his recent ascent in game difficulty up to legendary. ''Space with us, should you be after some proper match practice!'' Guy proposes. ''Full squad I thought?'' Alfie mutters dismissively. ''I'll sack any of the ten journeyman fucks on the squad off, any of them!'' Guy passionately declares in his desperation to sign Alfie, an elite player at local level, up for the pool team that he captains. ''Tuck, tuck, all fucking night! All you past it never had it mugs do.'' Alfie mockingly imitates the delicate type of shot required for tucking someone up. ''You haven't a scooby of our impenetrable dominance in the Bangor league.'' "Maybe if the standard was in the slightest bit stimulating.'' With respect to the Bangor pool league, its standard proves a stimulating challenge to those outside of the sport’s professional ranks. Boasting a plethora of international and county level players, its one frame shoot-out format ensures a challenge for any player to remain unbeaten over an entire twenty match season. Fearing his reputation as a budding professional snooker player will bring out the best in his opponents, Alfie finds it safer to pretend he's above that level. ''Div one champions last year, Fenner boy, I'll have you know.'' Guy proudly reminds Alfie of the pinnacle of his eleven years as captain. ''Not just on about the pool though, am I, rammed full of janky munters that club of yours.'' ''No way! More student p*ssy down there on a Wednesday than you could fucking fathom.'' Indeed, it is a hot spot for 'student p*ssy', not that Guy stands even the slightest chance of pulling a single one of them, which consecutive calamitous failed attempts has proven. Despite the fortune of a relatively handsome face and strapping physique, Alfie's dirth of pulling power, subsequent inferiority complex, and anger towards women has lately developed into a baseline curiosity in the incel community. ''Oh, right yeah, let's say it is. Why then is it you skulk off to Vietnam, fucking flower seeking.'' Alfie jabs Guy in the crotch with his cue case. ''That grubby little chode of yours senseless, for your entire month of paid holiday, every bastard year?'' Guy's vigor diminishes, all but crushed by the damning summary of his rigid optimization of leisure and free time. ''Yeah well, that's not all I do out there, is it?'' Other than the hotel’s two-star hygiene rated kitchens all-you-can-eat buffet, where he stocks up on energy for the following day’s conquests, it is. ''Won't mind taking Dazzler with you then?'' Alfie optimistically asks. Guy shudders at the mere thought. Brothels that know him on first name terms, narrowed down to his favorite three that he rotates for daily visits on his trips, wouldn’t let the boy through the front door, not like the unregulated good old days. ''Fearful all the birds will have me instead.'' Dazzler sarcastically chimes in without taking his eyes off a crucial Fifa EFL cup semifinal clash with Huddersfield that he holds a slender one nil lead in. Deep down, Guy knows his womanizing peak was over at nineteen after putting on four pounds of flab following a futile attempt to quit his half gram a day cocaine habit. ''D'you think the other reason I piss off for is?'' Alfie fails miserably to restrain the urge to groan. ''Frankie stuck here babysitting again!'' That puts any late night best of nineteen frame slogs, an inevitable ten nil win for Alfie more often than not, out of the question for an entire month. Not just any month, but the last month of practice before his first pop at snookers Q school. A grueling tournament held once a year, that's the only gateway into the professional ranks. It has been assumed that Frankie will serve as his semi willing full time practice partner, should he pull Q school off against the odds. A decision in itself that puts Alfie's slim chances of sustained success into peril, given Frankie's comparatively lackluster ability. BOOK INFO: AUTHOR: George Veck TITLE: One Visit GENRE: New Adult, Crime Drama RELEASE DATE: November 6, 2022 PUBLISHER: Indie Published ISBN/ASIN: B0BLMDGLQD OUR RATING: 4 stars REVIEWED BY: V.B. “Can Do Indie Author” Guest Blogger/Reviewer Bio:  V.B. is an indie author who writes romance and Sci Fi, and voraciously reads anything (with some limits). When she’s not reading and writing, she’s working a day job to pay for her truck habit and puttering around her house. Awesome. Thanks for this review, Virginia, and for stopping by the blog! :) Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog post here.  |
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