BOOK REVIEWS
BY DENISE COPELAND
The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo
Author: Taylor Jenkins REid
–Reviewed by: Denise Copeland
Even if celebrity gossip isn’t your thing, The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo will captivate you. Taylor Jenkins Reid takes readers behind the velvet curtain of old Hollywood and delivers a novel filled with glamour, ambition, scandal, heartbreak, and enough secrets to keep the pages turning late into the night.
The story begins when aging screen legend Evelyn Hugo, one of Hollywood’s most elusive and iconic stars, selects an unknown magazine writer, Monique Grant, to tell her life story. What follows is a sweeping account of Evelyn’s rise from poverty to stardom, her carefully constructed public image, and the seven husbands who helped shape her remarkable journey.
Reid cleverly structures the novel around each of Evelyn’s marriages, but don’t be fooled by the title. While the husbands certainly play their roles, this is ultimately a story about identity, sacrifice, love, and the cost of chasing fame. Each marriage reveals another layer of Evelyn’s character, exposing both her ruthless ambition and her profound vulnerability.
Evelyn herself is one of the most fascinating protagonists to emerge in contemporary fiction. She is brilliant, manipulative, courageous, selfish, loyal, and deeply human, often all at the same time. Readers may not always agree with her choices, but they will understand them. Reid has created a character who feels so authentic that many readers find themselves forgetting she never actually existed.
The Hollywood backdrop sparkles with old movie premieres, studio politics, designer gowns, and tabloid headlines. Yet beneath the glamour lies a thoughtful examination of how women, particularly women in the public eye, are expected to navigate power, beauty, aging, and public perception. Reid handles these themes with nuance and emotional depth.
The novel’s pacing is nearly flawless. Each revelation arrives at just the right moment, building momentum toward a conclusion that is both surprising and deeply satisfying. There are twists, but unlike many contemporary novels, the surprises serve the characters rather than simply shocking the reader.
Some critics have argued that certain plot developments stretch credibility. Then again, Hollywood has never been known for its restraint. Reid wisely embraces the larger-than-life nature of her setting while keeping the emotional core grounded in genuine human relationships.
What lingers long after the final page is not the fame, the wealth, or even the marriages. It is Evelyn’s search for authenticity in a world built on illusion and the sacrifices she makes to protect the people she loves.
Reid delivers an irresistible blend of historical fiction, family drama, romance, and Hollywood intrigue. Equal parts glamorous and heartbreaking, The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo reminds us that behind every public legend lies a private story few people ever truly know.
A compelling, beautifully layered novel that earns every bit of its popularity. Prepare to clear your schedule because once Evelyn starts talking, you won’t want to stop listening.
Denise Copeland and Buffey Cassidy are co-presidents of the Cambridge Book Club, a distinguished literary society in Martin County. They guide the club through thoughtful explorations of numerous works each year and host local authors to celebrate literature, cultivate community, and savor the enduring pleasures of reading.
The Housemaid
A novel by: Freida McFadden
–Reviewed by: Denise Copeland
Freida McFadden’s The Housemaid is a psychological thriller that grabs hold from the first chapter and refuses to let go. Its a seemingly straightforward story about Millie, a desperate young woman who accepts a live-in housekeeping position with a wealthy family, which quickly spirals into an unsettling game of manipulation, deception, and hidden motives.
The Winchester household appears picture perfect on the surface, but beneath the polished exterior lies a web of control, intimidation, and psychological warfare. The pacing is relentless, with short chapters and carefully timed revelations that make it nearly impossible to stop reading. Just when you think you’ve figured out the truth, McFadden deftly shifts the narrative.
I listened to the audiobook, which made the story feel even more immersive. Nina’s erratic behavior, relentless mind games, and emotional manipulation created such a palpable sense of unease that I felt genuinely frustrated on Millie’s behalf. Of course, that’s part of McFadden’s brilliance. People trapped in toxic situations rarely have the clarity that outsiders do.
The Housemaid is brilliantly effective because of its exploration of power dynamics behind closed doors. The novel captures the way emotional manipulation can distort reality, causing victims to doubt their instincts while outsiders remain oblivious to what is really happening.
Parts of the “The Housemaid” hit me in an uncomfortable way. While the circumstances are far more dramatic than everyday life, the portrayal of coercive control, gaslighting, and a carefully crafted public façade of a charming yet deeply disturbed individual felt unnervingly authentic. Having been married to someone I would politely describe as “not very stable”, I recognized patterns of behavior which made certain scenes far more disturbing than they might be for the average reader. McFadden understands that the most frightening people are not always the ones who appear dangerous.
Lauryn Allman’s audiobook narration deserves special recognition. Her performance brought an added layer of realism to her portrayal of Millie. Whether intentional or not, Millie carried a subtle New York, almost Brooklyn-style cadence that perfectly suited her no-nonsense personality and troubled past. In contrast, Nina’s polished, controlled manner of speaking created an immediate distinction between the two women. The vocal choices helped bring the characters to life and heightened the tension throughout the story. More than once, I found myself talking back to the audiobook, urging Millie to trust her instincts and get out while she still could.
Fans of psychological suspense will find plenty to enjoy here: shocking twists, unreliable perceptions, escalating tension, and a finale that delivers on its promises. Yet beneath the thriller framework lies a thoughtful examination of how easily appearances can deceive and how difficult it can be to recognize abuse when it wears a convincing mask.
The Housemaid is a fast paced, addictive read that offers more than simple shock value. It is both an entertaining thriller and a chilling reminder that the most dangerous stories are often the ones that feel just a little too real.
A Land Remembered
A novel by: Patrick D. Smith
–Reviewed by: Denise Copeland
Patrick D. Smith’s A Land Remembered is a sweeping and unforgettable novel that captures the raw essence of Florida before highways, resorts, and subdivisions, a place of beauty, danger, and unrelenting struggle. Through vivid storytelling and unforgettable characters, Smith transports readers through more than a century of change, from the mid-1800s frontier to the modern age. What results is not only the story of a family, but also of a land and its transformation.
At its heart, the novel follows the MacIvey family across three generations. Tobias MacIvey, a poor but determined pioneer, moves his family into the wilds of Florida to start anew. Life for Tobias, his wife Emma, and their son Zech is hard, the swamps are filled with mosquitoes, panthers, and floods, yet their courage and perseverance define the early chapters of the state’s history. Their story embodies the grit and endurance of the pioneers who tamed the wilderness and built the foundations of modern Florida.
Smith paints each scene with such realism that you can almost hear the crack of whips on cattle drives, feel the thick, humid air, and see the sun setting over the Everglades. Tobias’s friendship with the Seminoles and freed Black settlers reveals the deep humanity and cooperation often left out of history books. These moments of shared survival are among the novel’s most moving.
As the story continues through Zech and his son Solomon (“Sol”), Smith explores love, ambition, and loss with heartbreaking honesty. Zech’s divided loyalties between his wife Glenda and his Seminole love Tawanda reflect the complexity of life in a time when race and identity were in flux. When the novel transitions to Sol’s generation, we see the toll of progress, the rise of Miami, the draining of the land, and the great Okeechobee flood that reshaped South Florida forever. Sol’s wealth and success come at a cost: the fading memory of the wild, unspoiled Florida his grandfather once knew.
A Land Remembered is truly remarkable and captivating. Even readers who aren’t naturally drawn to history will find themselves swept up in this powerful, human story, reminding us that progress often demands sacrifice, but the land, and the spirit of those who came before, will always be remembered.
A Land Remembered is one of the best books I’ve ever read about Florida. Smith doesn’t romanticize the hardships, but he does make you understand the grit, determination, and sacrifices that shaped Florida long before it became the place we know today. If you’ve ever wondered what Florida was like before the condos, highways, and crowds, this book offers an insightful and unforgettable answer. It’s a novel I would recommend to anyone who loves Florida, history, or simply a well-told story.
Denise Copeland and Buffey Cassidy are co-presidents of the Cambridge Book Club, a distinguished literary society in Martin County. They guide the club through thoughtful explorations of numerous works each year and host local authors to celebrate literature, cultivate community, and savor the enduring pleasures of reading.
The Hotel Nantucket
A novel by: Patrick D. Smith
–Reviewed by: Denise Copeland
One place I never expected to write from is a respite facility. Let me explain. I stumbled over the last step going downstairs, thinking the step was the floor and to make a long story short, I broke my ankle. Not just a little break, a huge break, the kind of break that you can brag about later when things seem funny in hindsight. It has been a long journey for the past two weeks, and six more weeks of non-weight bearing until I get really well-acquainted with my physical therapist. Now, I’m not one to brag, but I’ve never fallen before, nor have I ever broken a bone, so in light of that, forgive me if I want to complain just a little too much, but are you kidding? Who knew that one ankle could cause this much pain and interruption in my life. No wonder they shoot horses.
Let’s begin what you can expect if you don’t pay attention to the stairs and find yourself in this position. First, you should have your cell phone on you at all times. I did. Second, call everyone you know to help you. Check. Did that too. My house was filled with two sets of grown children and spouses, a grandson, and my neighbors, who eventually called their son, who owns a gym, to come escort me to what was the first step of dependency and what was becoming a bad mood. Next step, let’s all fill the emergency room with my son-in-law betting me fifty dollars that it was a sprain and not a break. I wish I had bet more. After spending most of the day in the ER for no apparent reason since it was not busy at all, the news came. It was a break, actually several breaks, and a couple of ruptured ligaments. I took the fifty. Now I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but in my mind I’d get a couple of ace bandages, some sympathy, and call it a day.
Nope. Not at all. I got a very uncomfortable fiberglass cast with lots of padding and my first glimpse of life as an invalid. For one thing, I have suddenly acquired new furnishings and by that I mean a wheelchair, a walker, a call bell that I wear around my neck, a boot that goes from my ankle to my knee with velcro straps that snag everything, and I don’t mean a walking boot. Oh no. That is to be determined in a total of eight weeks sitting on my behind. I know by now you’re thinking that you’re tired of me complaining, and I don’t blame you. There are worse things in the world, but here’s the thing. Going from total independence to total dependency is not going well for me. I am not used to counting on other people to run my life and although I am so appreciative of all the help, I just can’t take it anymore. I have raised four children, I have had dogs that are so energetic that they’ve chewed everything that wasn’t bolted down, I have lived in New York City where every day was a possibility that I would be mugged or killed, but I never complained. This, however, is the last straw for my mental health.
So, if you’re still reading, and I wouldn’t be if I were you, let’s continue the journey. I had surgery, One day later I was placed in a rehabilitation facility where physical therapy was like a religion, and everyone had to perform a minimum of three hours a day of physical and occupational therapy. It was a huge gymnasium of broken people of whom I was one. No one cared that you were tired or in pain. The idea was to adhere to the rules and the rules were, you do your exercises from the crack of dawn until you were allowed to return to your room for a miserable diet of mystery food. Let’s not even talk about bathroom issues, even I don’t want to relive that. Okay, so after seven days in hell, I decided to go to a respite place for the rest of my recovery, which was to be a minimum of 6 weeks. It is now day four. I want out!! There is no real reason to complain other than to say this. I have no idea how I ever committed to marriage, when I can’t commit to six more weeks of living my life at the mercy of other people. I’ve already called my son and told him if I ever actually had to live the rest of my life as a dependent human, he had my permission to kill me. He laughed. I don’t know why. It isn’t funny.
My point is that I have an entirely new perspective on everyone with a disability. God bless them if they have reached deep down and found their sweet, fun personality. I give them credit. For me, I’m going to figure out a way to break out of here and go home, even if that means I can only live in my room with no food for the next month or two. Also, I’m selling my house. There is no reason anyone should have a house filled with stairs. Or throw rugs, or anything else that is going to impede your independence. Take heed. Only two weeks ago I was among the happy, sane people and now I’ve become a shell of myself. Get out of your houses as soon as possible if you have steps They are the real villains of the unsuspecting. Thanks for reading. I’ll try to get myself together before the next article!
The Wedding People
A novel by: Alison Espach
–Reviewed by: The Cambridge Book Club
Espach has a particular talent for finding humor in emotional free fall, and The Wedding People may be her most precise balancing act yet. At once sharply funny and quietly devastating, the novel examines grief, reinvention, and the strange intimacy of being surrounded by strangers at a celebration you were never meant to attend. It is a story that understands how life’s most disorienting moments rarely arrive with solitude. Instead, they tend to unfold in the middle of noise, expectation, and other people’s joy.
The story centers on Phoebe Stone, a woman who arrives alone at a lavish seaside hotel during peak wedding weekend. She is simply there, carrying a heavy private sorrow that contrasts spectacularly with the champagne fueled joy unfolding around her. From the start, there is a quiet tension in watching Phoebe occupy a space that is both physically open and emotionally closed off to her.
Through a series of awkward encounters and unexpected conversations, Phoebe becomes entangled with members of the wedding party, each wrestling with their own anxieties beneath the satin and smiles. What begins as a backdrop gradually reveals itself as a web of interconnected insecurities, making Phoebe less of an outsider than she first appears.
Espach excels at writing characters who feel startlingly human. Phoebe is observant, dry, emotionally raw, and often very funny without trying to be. Her inner commentary cuts through wedding pageantry with surgical precision, skewering rituals that promise happiness while quietly pressuring everyone involved. Yet beneath the wit is a vulnerability that never feels performative. The supporting cast is equally well drawn, especially the bride, whose carefully constructed certainty begins to fracture as the weekend unfolds. Secondary characters who might have remained caricatures in another novel are instead given depth, their motivations layered and often contradictory.
What heightens The Wedding People beyond a clever premise is Espach’s control of tone. The novel never mocks grief, nor does it sentimentalize healing. Instead, it allows humor and pain to coexist on the same page, often within the same paragraph. Laughter becomes a coping mechanism rather than an escape, and the result feels genuinely honest. There is a rhythm to the writing that mirrors real emotional experience, where absurdity and sorrow frequently arrive hand in hand.
Perhaps the novel’s greatest strength is its refusal to offer easy resolutions. No one is magically fixed by the final chapter. Instead, there is a sense of movement, of subtle shifts in understanding rather than dramatic transformation. That restraint feels refreshing, especially in a story set against an event that traditionally demands tidy endings and lifelong promises. Espach trusts her readers to sit with ambiguity, and that trust pays off.
The Wedding People is a smart, observant, and deeply empathetic novel that will resonate with anyone who has ever felt out of step with the celebration around them. It speaks to the quiet dissonance of being present but not entirely included, of smiling through moments that do not quite belong to you. Espach proves once again that she understands the comedy of discomfort and the quiet bravery required to keep showing up when life does not resemble the brochure.
Perfect for readers who appreciate emotional intelligence served with wit, this is a book that lingers well after the cake is cut and the guests have gone home. It invites reflection long after the final page, not through grand revelations but through the accumulation of small, truthful moments that feel uncomfortably familiar in the best possible way.
The Women
A novel by: Kristin Hannah
–Reviewed by: Denise Copeland
A powerful, unflinching, and deeply human novel that shines a long-overdue light on the women who served as nurses during the Vietnam War. In classic Hannah fashion, it is emotionally immersive equal parts heartbreak, grit, determination and grace.
At the center of the story is Frances “Frankie” McGrath, a sheltered young woman from an affluent California family who enlists in the Army Nurse Corps almost on impulse, determined to prove to herself and to everyone else that she is braver and more capable than the world assumes. Once she arrives in Vietnam, Frankie’s transformation is swift and profound. Hannah brings the chaos of the field hospitals to life with startling clarity: the helicopter rotors vibrating the ground, the relentless stream of wounded soldiers, the sensory overload of a war zone where every second counts. There is no romanticizing here; the book honors the truth of what these women endured, and the emotional cost of saving lives in a place where hope was often in short supply.
One of the more frustrating and telling threads in the story is the way Frankie’s father refuses to recognize her service for what it was. Despite everything she endured and contributed during the war, he clings to a narrow, outdated idea of who gets to be called a hero, and Frankie simply doesn’t fit that mold in his eyes. His silence and dismissal carry weight, not just as a personal rejection, but as a reflection of a broader tendency to overlook the role women played.
But the most intriguing bond is between Frankie and the other nurses. Their sisterhood is fierce, funny, and grounding, an anchor amid trauma. Through them, Hannah highlights the resilience of women who held steady in circumstances that would have broken many. These friendships become the beating heart of the story, giving it warmth even in its darkest moments.
But The Women isn’t just a war novel. The second half explores the quieter, often overlooked battle the nurses faced when they returned home. Instead of gratitude, they encountered disbelief, dismissal, and a culture determined to forget the war entirely. Frankie’s struggle to reintegrate into civilian life is written with painful authenticity. She grapples with PTSD, complicated family dynamics, and a society unprepared to acknowledge women’s contributions. Hannah handles these themes with sensitivity, reminding us that wounds don’t always bleed visibly.
Throughout the novel, the writing is cinematic yet intimate. Hannah’s gift lies not only in crafting sweeping emotional arcs but in capturing small, devastating moments that reveal character: a trembling hand, a worn photograph tucked into a pocket, a half-finished letter home. These details make the story feel lived-in and real.
The audiobook deserves its own spotlight. The Women by Kristin Hannah is brought to life by Julia Whelan, whose narration elevates every moment of the story. At just under 15 hours, the Macmillan Audio production is immersive without ever feeling long, and Whelan’s performance is a big reason why. She’s one of the most respected voices in audiobooks for a reason, and here, she delivers something that feels both powerful and deeply personal.
Ultimately, The Women is gripping, heart-rending, and deeply respectful. Whether you’re drawn to historical fiction, character-driven drama, or stories that amplify forgotten voices, this book earns a spot on your must-read list.
Where The Crawdads Sing
A novel by: Delia Owens
–Reviewed by: The Cambridge Book Club
With the precision of a biologist and the soul of a poet, Delia Owens creates a place so tangible you can taste the salt in the air and hear the cries of distant herons. It’s a novel steeped in atmosphere, loneliness, longing, and above all fierce, unyielding resilience.
At the center of the story stands Kya Clark, a child abandoned not once, but repeatedly, left to piece together her world in a shack at the edge of the water. Owens does not soften the blows life deals Kya. Instead, she shows us how a young girl learns to make a home from what others see as wilderness and to build a life from scraps of kindness, instinct, and curiosity. Kya grows into a woman whose intelligence runs deep, whose heart remains tender despite every reason for it to harden, and whose connection to the marsh becomes both sanctuary and identity. Her relationship with nature is not a hobby or backdrop, it is the love story that anchors the entire novel.
The book’s structure moves between Kya’s formative years and the later investigation of Chase Andrews’ death, a shift that creates a slow-burn tension that builds with every chapter. The mystery is compelling, but Owens never sacrifices emotional depth for plot. Instead, she uses the suspense to peel back layers of social prejudice, exposing how quickly a community can turn on someone it never attempted to understand.
Owens invites us so deeply into Kya’s quiet world that her joys feel like triumphs, and her betrayals land with devastating clarity. Her romance, her art, her hunger for love, for connection, for belonging are rendered with such honesty that you can’t help but ache with her. Even secondary characters feel textured and human, especially Tate, whose gentle guidance and genuine affection offer Kya her first glimpse of being seen.
Owens’ prose is lush but never indulgent. Every metaphor is purposeful, every moment in the marsh layered with meaning. The natural world becomes a mirror, reflecting the instinctive push and pull of survival, attraction, adaptation, and self-defense. In Kya’s story, biology becomes metaphor, and metaphor becomes truth.
In the end, Where the Crawdads Sing is an exploration of what it means to be othered, to be underestimated, to find strength in solitude, and to carve out beauty even when the world refuses to make space for you.
Denise Copeland and Buffey Cassidy are co-presidents of the Cambridge Book Club, a distinguished literary society in Martin County. They guide the club through thoughtful explorations of numerous works each year and host local authors to celebrate literature, cultivate community, and savor the enduring pleasures of reading.
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