In this new novel, a woman’s everyday life crackles with anxiety as an arsonist terrorizes her neighborhood.

For Zoë Penney, potential misfortune is always crowding at the periphery of daily experience. Someone has been prowling her Northwest town and setting fires all fall, and every snapping twig seems to signal the threat of new conflagration: “There was a humming in the air if you listened for it,” she ruminates, “a pressure behind the eyes you couldn’t rub away—a barely suspended sense of danger.” The novel initially appears to bear the hallmarks of a thriller—lurking shadows, a mysterious new neighbor, an ominous recurring nightmare—but before long, it becomes clear that there will be no climactic reveal of a vicious villain, no final-hour plot twists. The villain in this story is effectively nothing other than mortality itself, and its methods are mundane: illness, old age, accidents. Still, the events of the story are no less affecting for being familiar. As Zoë’s husband, Jay Penney, navigates treatments for testicular cancer and family pets face a litany of ailments, dread and grief saturate the atmosphere of their cozy house, and attention to external threats gradually fades in favor of more intimate concerns. It is the turn of the millennium, and although the computers have survived the threat of Y2K, Zoë’s peace of mind has not: “The year had safely turned and the only apocalypse now was this one.” At times, it can feel as if various story elements—including a terminally ill loved one and a dying dog—have been algorithmically designed to tug at readers’ heartstrings. However, Zoë’s interiority is rendered with earnest care. As her anxious vigilance begins to loosen into something like acceptance of the unknown, readers are treated to a poignant story of tenuous growth amid catastrophes.

An often moving story of uncertainty and loss.

An American scholar visits Cuba and becomes embroiled in the politics of everyday life in this poetic novel by Putnam, author of Full Moon at Noontide (2009).

Professor Laura Gallagher is traveling to Havana to read a paper she has written on Ernest Hemingway to fellow American and Cuban scholars. It’s the 1990s, and such opportunities to visit the country had previously been quite rare. Gallagher is excited and a bit afraid, although her motivation to travel goes beyond mere academic interest; she’s also desperate to use the trip as a way to outrun painful memories. Ever since the death of her mother when she was 12, Gallagher has struggled to face her darkest moments, including the loss of a baby following an emergency C-section, an unrewarding love life, and a traumatic hysterectomy. Almost as soon as she arrives in Cuba, she falls ill with a gastrointestinal illness. Her caregiver is the mysterious Maria, who was once a doctor but is now a hotel cleaner. Maria introduces Gallagher to her daughter, Pilar, who, as a child, believed Hemingway was a spirit watching over her. After Gallagher recovers, she feels an immediate bond with this Cuban family. However, she’s soon accosted by a man on the street who tells her to “mind [her] own business” and “stay away.” In an environment where neighbors spy on neighbors, Gallagher must tread very carefully in order to comprehend and fight against the dangers that are facing her newfound friends and rediscover a lost sense of purpose and peace within herself.

As the novel goes on, Putnam skillfully intertwines history and fiction by carefully pondering the impact of political events from the perspective of the Cuban people: “On those dark October days years ago, what was it like from here, with the lighthouse dark and missiles aimed every which way?...No cannons at nine to announce that all is well.” Overall, she offers readers a multifaceted, elegantly described portrait of Cuban life—from the sensual enticement of a famed highball cocktail (“I want the chink of ice cubes, the splash of water, the sweet immersion….Rum, lime, mint, a spritz of seltzer and ice. Mojito”) to the haunting yet enthralling local atmosphere that’s informed by the religion Santeria. However, despite the novel’s breathtakingly evocative descriptive focus on the country and culture, the author never neglects the intricacies of her complex plot. She shows herself to be expert at poetically exploring and pinpointing her protagonist’s psychological state: “I’m an outsider to my own story. I’m still the little girl with the unopened chest buried under her bed.” The novel’s portrayal of Gallagher’s story of altruism and catharsis makes for a satisfying and rewarding read—and one that also confronts a range of relatable anxieties. In addition, there are sufficient Hemingway references here to satisfy fans of that author. Overall, this impressively expansive novel will appeal to academics, Cubanophiles, and general readers alike.

A story with sumptuous description and a gradually intensifying plot that makes for compulsive reading.