A MILLION MILES FROM YESTERDAY

A doctor who recently lost his wife fights for a second chance at happiness in Connolly’s novel.

Hank Cleary is a physician and the director of the nursing home in Alma, a tiny town in Wisconsin. Three years ago, his wife Sarah died of ovarian cancer, and now Hank struggles to restart his life and pull himself out of his ennui: “He felt outside of himself. Like he was a half a beat off from the world. Or maybe that the world was a half-beat off from him.” Hank begins to take a shine to Livy Reyna, the owner of a local bar and cafe and a volunteer firefighter who is trying to have a baby on her own, “courtesy of the sperm clinic at the state university.” He grows more and more infatuated with her, so much so that he pines to give her the baby she seeks by artificial means. Then disaster strikes—a massive fire consumes Alma’s recycling plant, compelling both Hank and Livy to spring into perilous action in an emergency that simultaneously brings the town together and threatens its destruction. Prior to the crescendo of the fire, the plot moves at a restrained pace, but it’s never dull—the entire narrative crackles with an electric emotional energy. In this intelligently executed novel, Connolly explores the familial backgrounds of her characters with great sensitivity (Hank’s Irish ancestry and Livy’s Mexican roots in particular). Hank is a compelling protagonist whose psychological rut is thoughtfully portrayed. One of the victims of the fire—she’s called Silent Margaret because she almost never speaks— turns out to be a fascinatingly enigmatic character. The author’s prose is startlingly nimble; Connolly quotes freely from literature and poetry, and philosophically ponders everything from the nature of love to “something in that hidden space [that] holds galaxies and galaxy clusters together, while causing space itself to fly apart.” This is a powerful emotional drama, intellectually lively and unpredictable.

A thoroughly engrossing novel brimming with eccentric strengths.