The Faraway Inn, by Sarah Beth Durst (Delacorte Press)
The Faraway Inn is a wonderful example of a story
that is aimed at Young Adult readers but has much wider appeal. Yes, the
viewpoint character, Calisa, is sixteen, but her situation and emotional growth
are have universal appeal. Following an angst-ridden breakup with her boyfriend,
she embarks upon a summer at her great-aunt’s B&B in rural Vermont. Instead
of the idyllic summer-of-forgetting she expected, she finds a dilapidated,
almost empty husk. one door after another is slammed in her face, sometimes
literally and always without explanation. Auntie Zee is not only colossally
grumpy and anti-welcoming but seems determined to send Calisa packing. Calisa,
however, is anything but a helpless victim. She rolls up her sleeves, partners
with Jack, the son of the (mysteriously absent) groundskeeper, and embarks upon
a campaign of cleaning, tidying, and serving afternoon tea, complete with cake.
Soon, she’s also investigating doors that lead to other worlds, when they don’t
open capriciously to closets. Just as she gets a clue what is going on, the magical
gates begin to fail…stranding Jack’s father in limbo.
Although this is a stand-alone unrelated to Durst’s “Spellshot”
series, it shares many of the same elements: a young protagonist with agency, a
complex system of magical worlds shaded with romance, danger, and longing.
These vaccines entered use in the U.S. at different times from the early 1980s through 2000. Prior to that, there were millions of chickenpox cases and thousands of serious bacterial infections and preventable deaths among American children each year. Vaccination has dramatically reduced the toll of these diseases.
Many parents today grew up during the transition to widespread vaccination for these diseases and may never have witnessed the severe complications these vaccines help prevent. I’m an epidemiologist who studies vaccine-preventable illnesses and health communication, and I worry that perhaps the luxury of forgetting about these diseases could end up giving rise to a generation of children who aren’t vaccinated against them.
What Florida would be choosing
School vaccination requirements help communities establish herd immunity, which is when enough people are vaccinated to prevent a disease from easily spreading. When vaccination rates fall, infections can spread among susceptible children throughout the community, placing those who are too young to be fully vaccinated, as well as those who cannot develop adequate protection due to medical conditions, at greater risk.
Florida’s proposal would not eliminate these four vaccines, nor would ending a mandate mean that every family would stop using them. However, it would weaken one of the policies designed to maintain high vaccination coverage. If fewer children are vaccinated as a result, the risks will extend beyond the families making that choice.
The consequences could be devastating.
Hib: The bacterium that can cause meningitis
Before Hib vaccines became widely used in the late 1980s, pediatricians sometimes faced a terrifying emergency: an infant with fever, lethargy and a stiff neck. Testing of cerebrospinal fluid would reveal bacterial meningitis caused by Haemophilus influenzae type b, or Hib, an infection that could kill a child or leave lasting neurological damage.
Today, many doctors have never even seen a single case. The bacterium has not disappeared, but widespread vaccination has made serious Hib disease in young children far less common.
By the early 1990s, there were more than 4 million cases of chickenpox annually in the United States. Of those infected, 10,500 to 13,500 were hospitalized, and 100 to 150 died. More than 90% of cases and about 70% of hospitalizations occurred in children, as did roughly half of the deaths.
Children are contagious before the rash appears, and each case has an incubation period of up to three weeks. A single infection could spread through a school or daycare in waves for a month or more. Since vaccination began in 1995, deaths from chickenpox in people under 20 years old have been virtually eliminated.
The Djinn Waits a Hundred Years, by Shubnum Khan (Viking)
I wanted to like this book. I really did, and for the
first 20% or so, I enjoyed it. The setting – a mouldering old house in Durban,
South Africa – the widow and his teenaged daughter, Sana, whose way of experiencing
the world is as richly lyrical as it is unusual, the other inhabitants of the
house. Add to that the mystery of what happened in the house and why it’s
haunted by a festering, evil djinn, and all these elements carried the opening.
Alas, it’s a high wire act to use setting and character
as the forward momentum of a novel, no matter how vivid they may be in their
own right. This is not to say that a novel cannot be focused on character or setting,
only that the energy driving the story must arise from them, catapulting events
into dramatic tension. Otherwise, the story drifts from one interesting or
amusing incident to the next, dissipating engagement and curiosity about what’s
going on and why.
This was my experience, although of course, other readers
may have a different take on this book. It was always about to get going and
then sinking back into stasis. Things that might have been charming crotchets,
like the humorous friction between the house’s inhabitants, turned into
irritations when it seemed that was all there was to the story. I never could
figure out why Sana had such an unusual way of experiencing the world because her
semi-hallucinatory state never varied. Without question, the prose is
beautiful, filled with offbeat connections and unusual ways of interpreting
reality.
For me, as a reader, however, “lyrically stunning” can go
only so far in overcoming “lack of story tension.” The book went from always-getting-started
to drifting to slog, in which I found myself looking for something else to do
besides reading it.
The proposed livestream of Nidal Hasan’s execution by a U.S. military firing squad gives an old question a new audience. Hasan, an Army psychiatrist convicted by a military court of killing 13 people at Fort Hood in Texas in 2009, is scheduled to be executed on Dec. 3, 2026.
Whether the broadcast will proceed remains uncertain. But as a historian of the early American republic, I recognize a familiar expectation behind it: that watching someone die will teach a useful lesson. Americans at the republic’s founding debated that premise — and doubted what the lesson might be.
The power of government
On Aug. 17, 1797, New Yorkers gathered to watch John Young hang.
An English musician and music publisher struggling with debt, Young had shot and killed Robert Barwick, a deputy sheriff taking him into custody. Barwick left a widow and nine children.
Governor John Jay, a leading Federalist who placed greater faith in firm government than in popular judgment, had authorized the military presence after the sheriff reported fears of a rescue. But Jay also wanted the execution to impress its witnesses with the power of the government carrying it out.
Solemnity, however, proved difficult to arrange. The military escort played lively music as the procession made its way to the scaffold. One newspaper critic thought an uninformed passerby might mistake the spectacle for “the celebration of some Festival.”
Soldiers formed a square around the gallows. The crowd remained orderly. Young addressed a few words to the minister, sang a psalm “and with great composure pulled his cap over his face,” reported one newspaper. Then, before the assembled witnesses, he was hanged.
All the Dead Shall Weep, by Charlaine Harris (Saga)
I’m a long-time fan of Charlaine Harris, and she gets
better all the time. All the Dead Shall Weep, the fifth installment in her
“Gunnie Rose” series, is a showcase of her strengths: vivid characters, a
gritty and believable post-apocalytic world with diverse cultures, and superb
handling of dramatic tension and pacing. All conveyed in deceptively simple, evocative
prose that captures the nuanced emotional literacy of the viewpoint characters
(Lizbeth Rose and her sister, the fugitive grigori Felicia). Her portrayal of
the resilience and resourcefulness of poor residents of Texoma is both stark
and compassionate.
Newly weds Lizbeth and Eli, along with Felicia and Eli’s
brother, Peter, take refuge in Lizbeth’s home town after fleeing the Holy Russian
Empire in San Diego. Soon, they’re besieged by strange magic-wielders seeking to
court Felicia because of her powerful death magic, and those with even more
nefarious aims. Matters explode when armed paramilitary ride into town. Part
mystery, part love story, all wrapped up in breathless, page-turner action.