Conchie Fernandez's Blog - Posts Tagged "review"
Clarion ForeWord official review: 4/5 Stars for "Undrawn"
Excerpt from Clarion ForeWord official review, Apr. 23, 2011. By Jill Allen: **** (4/5 Star Rating)
In “Undrawn”, the imminent death of his tyrannical father Brandon forces frail, thirty-six-year-old painter Kyle to return to his boyhood home after a self-imposed exile. While there, the past catches up to the son, and he finds himself facing old family rifts, former girlfriends, crimes of passion, and, most of all, the overwhelming urge to be loved and accepted. Conchie Fernandez’s debut novel shifts between the past and present as Kyle seeks absolution in a world where many factors are unknown.
The protagonist’s struggles are witnessed by his sneering brother Stuart, who has secrets of his own, his affectionate brother Troy, and his selfless mother, Norma, who possesses more concern about Kyle’s diabetes than about her own emotional well-being in the wake of Brandon’s death. Also populating the story are Kyle’s contacts in the art world, as well as past and present lovers, all with distinct traits.
As a former newspaper editor and present-day creative writing teacher, Fernandez eloquently captures the subtleties of human relationships. Readers clearly see the protagonist hurting because of his father’s control, even as he holds out hope that Brandon will someday acknowledge his art.
Art isn’t the only thing about Kyle that Brandon fails to accept; he does not believe that his son is truly ill. To hear Brandon accuse Kyle, a diabetic, of trying to manipulate his father’s emotions by having an attack is truly horrifying. When juxtaposed against Norma and Troy’s caring attitude toward the sickly Kyle, Brandon’s indifference becomes all the more cruel. Kyle and Troy behave like real brothers. Beneath their profanity-laced dialogue brims love and protectiveness. In a novel loaded with machismo, it is refreshing to see Troy and Kyle hug, both in the past and the present.
“Undrawn” refreshes the trope of the tortured artist. Readers see how Kyle is haunted by his past while he suffers from occasional diabetic attacks. Kyle’s physical and mental suffering is poignantly
rendered, although occasionally his diabetic attacks seem like convenient plot devices.
Fernandez masterfully immerses readers in the world of Kyle’s canvas, so that they paint right along with the artist. On the whole, though, “Undrawn” is a well-realized portrait of conflict and forgiveness.
In “Undrawn”, the imminent death of his tyrannical father Brandon forces frail, thirty-six-year-old painter Kyle to return to his boyhood home after a self-imposed exile. While there, the past catches up to the son, and he finds himself facing old family rifts, former girlfriends, crimes of passion, and, most of all, the overwhelming urge to be loved and accepted. Conchie Fernandez’s debut novel shifts between the past and present as Kyle seeks absolution in a world where many factors are unknown.
The protagonist’s struggles are witnessed by his sneering brother Stuart, who has secrets of his own, his affectionate brother Troy, and his selfless mother, Norma, who possesses more concern about Kyle’s diabetes than about her own emotional well-being in the wake of Brandon’s death. Also populating the story are Kyle’s contacts in the art world, as well as past and present lovers, all with distinct traits.
As a former newspaper editor and present-day creative writing teacher, Fernandez eloquently captures the subtleties of human relationships. Readers clearly see the protagonist hurting because of his father’s control, even as he holds out hope that Brandon will someday acknowledge his art.
Art isn’t the only thing about Kyle that Brandon fails to accept; he does not believe that his son is truly ill. To hear Brandon accuse Kyle, a diabetic, of trying to manipulate his father’s emotions by having an attack is truly horrifying. When juxtaposed against Norma and Troy’s caring attitude toward the sickly Kyle, Brandon’s indifference becomes all the more cruel. Kyle and Troy behave like real brothers. Beneath their profanity-laced dialogue brims love and protectiveness. In a novel loaded with machismo, it is refreshing to see Troy and Kyle hug, both in the past and the present.
“Undrawn” refreshes the trope of the tortured artist. Readers see how Kyle is haunted by his past while he suffers from occasional diabetic attacks. Kyle’s physical and mental suffering is poignantly
rendered, although occasionally his diabetic attacks seem like convenient plot devices.
Fernandez masterfully immerses readers in the world of Kyle’s canvas, so that they paint right along with the artist. On the whole, though, “Undrawn” is a well-realized portrait of conflict and forgiveness.
A Review of Brandi Lei Morrison's "A Southern Tale of Forgiveness"
A Southern Tale of Forgiveness
Brandi Lei Morrison's "A Southern Tale of Forgiveness" is one of the most touching, inspiring and elevating novels I've read in a very long time. The author's debut novel opens as a deceivingly simple story of female fraternal twins, Tessandra and Jewels, born to a birracial couple of humble means at the dawn of the last century. The subtle twists of Ms. Morrison's novel begin just there, in the opening pages, as the author describes the birth of the twins. Tessandra emerges from her mother's womb, her skin as dark as her father's, followed by the surprising arrival of her twin, Jewels, who is as fair-skinned as their mother. That Tessandra is the firstborn is indicative of her brave, somewhat brash, confident and ever-loving personality. She's a protagonist I am reluctant to let go of, and will remember for a very long time. In contrast, Ms. Morrison paints Jewels as a frail, vulnerable and light reflection of her twin. These differences are an interesting literary choice, and the delicate issues of race, attitudes, faith, duty and familial bonds will push and pull against the sisters throughout the novel.
"A Southern Tale of Forgiveness" moves elegantly through the turbulent history of race in Louisiana in the mid-1920s, WWII and later through the Civil Rights Movement of the early 1960s. The book strays far from any racial cliche and doesn't paint the characters as victims -in spite of the racial divides of the eras- which would have done a terrible disservice to a plot and character development that are flawlessly executed.
The book moves between a present set in the mid-60s to a series of family tragedies in the late 1920s and '40s. These events both bonded and almost serrated the relationship between the sisters. Jewels' reaction to their shared pain and her heartbreaking decisions clash against Tessandra's unending perseverance, drive and optimism. The book never moves slowly, the story and plot are extremely well paced, and yet I always got the feeling that a soft female voice with a slight Louisiana accent was reading the story to me, from the front porch of Tessandra's carefully tended house or the bedroom that Jewels often hid inside, whether as a child or a grown-up. As a storyteller, Ms. Morrison has a firm, confident, gentle voice and she has created a world where, as it often happens in real life, pain can either help us discover our inner strength and faith...or it can drive us to bitterness and depression. In the end, her characters must make their choices, and as a reader, I was profoundly moved by the choices they made. Congratulations to Ms. Morrison for a superb novel, and I look forward to many more!
Brandi Lei Morrison's "A Southern Tale of Forgiveness" is one of the most touching, inspiring and elevating novels I've read in a very long time. The author's debut novel opens as a deceivingly simple story of female fraternal twins, Tessandra and Jewels, born to a birracial couple of humble means at the dawn of the last century. The subtle twists of Ms. Morrison's novel begin just there, in the opening pages, as the author describes the birth of the twins. Tessandra emerges from her mother's womb, her skin as dark as her father's, followed by the surprising arrival of her twin, Jewels, who is as fair-skinned as their mother. That Tessandra is the firstborn is indicative of her brave, somewhat brash, confident and ever-loving personality. She's a protagonist I am reluctant to let go of, and will remember for a very long time. In contrast, Ms. Morrison paints Jewels as a frail, vulnerable and light reflection of her twin. These differences are an interesting literary choice, and the delicate issues of race, attitudes, faith, duty and familial bonds will push and pull against the sisters throughout the novel.
"A Southern Tale of Forgiveness" moves elegantly through the turbulent history of race in Louisiana in the mid-1920s, WWII and later through the Civil Rights Movement of the early 1960s. The book strays far from any racial cliche and doesn't paint the characters as victims -in spite of the racial divides of the eras- which would have done a terrible disservice to a plot and character development that are flawlessly executed.
The book moves between a present set in the mid-60s to a series of family tragedies in the late 1920s and '40s. These events both bonded and almost serrated the relationship between the sisters. Jewels' reaction to their shared pain and her heartbreaking decisions clash against Tessandra's unending perseverance, drive and optimism. The book never moves slowly, the story and plot are extremely well paced, and yet I always got the feeling that a soft female voice with a slight Louisiana accent was reading the story to me, from the front porch of Tessandra's carefully tended house or the bedroom that Jewels often hid inside, whether as a child or a grown-up. As a storyteller, Ms. Morrison has a firm, confident, gentle voice and she has created a world where, as it often happens in real life, pain can either help us discover our inner strength and faith...or it can drive us to bitterness and depression. In the end, her characters must make their choices, and as a reader, I was profoundly moved by the choices they made. Congratulations to Ms. Morrison for a superb novel, and I look forward to many more!
My Review of "Death on Deadline" by Diane Majeske
I'm not a fan of serials - I don't have that attention span. Diane Majeske's "Death on Deadline" has made me reconsider making a long-term investment in her quirky, hilarious characters and inventive plot. Ms. Majeske has created a highly likeable character in America Miles, an ever-hungry small-town journalist totally at ease with her surroundings, at peace with her friends and career, and soon the protagonist of a series of workplace murders.
I won't go into details about the twists and turns, which stray far from cliches and plot reworks; I might throw in a spoiler by mistake. What I can do is recommend this great little read to the high heavens. And 'little' only because time flew while I read it and I got the feeling it was short; I would have loved to keep on reading even more.
I really, really look forward to Ms. Majeske's next books, and I will certainly follow America's next crises. Plus, I really want to know who she'll end up with!
Congratulations to the author for a well-formatted Kindle version and most of all, for a flawlessly rendered comic thriller!
I won't go into details about the twists and turns, which stray far from cliches and plot reworks; I might throw in a spoiler by mistake. What I can do is recommend this great little read to the high heavens. And 'little' only because time flew while I read it and I got the feeling it was short; I would have loved to keep on reading even more.
I really, really look forward to Ms. Majeske's next books, and I will certainly follow America's next crises. Plus, I really want to know who she'll end up with!
Congratulations to the author for a well-formatted Kindle version and most of all, for a flawlessly rendered comic thriller!
