2.5 stars
This is a long, meandering middle book in a series by an author who doesn’t seem to be much edited, perhaps because for her readers the syrupy slice-of-life is the charm. I swear half this book consists of characters mulling over events and empathizing with one another. But that warm and fuzzy atmosphere, in which the author quickly diffuses any imagined threat to the protagonists before the reader can get excited, sits ill with the mystery element, involving the brutal murders of women we don’t know.
Set in 1884 New York, this book continues the stories of Drs. Anna and Sophie Savard and their large and complicated network of family and friends. I learned from the last book that female doctors (not just midwives or traditional healers but doctors who attended medical schools specifically for women) did in fact exist in 19th century America, a piece of history I’m grateful to Donati for bringing to wider attention, and these doctors did in fact include women of color like Sophie. But in this installment the professional focus of the story has shifted more to Anna’s husband Jack, a police detective. Sophie is now a rich widow trying to figure out her next steps, Anna doesn’t do much at all, and the author fills in the medical-woman gap with Elise, a medical student whom I only vaguely remember from the last book.
Unfortunately, while the author uses a collection of letters, newspaper articles, telegrams, etc., as a fun device to catch readers up at the beginning of the book, these just get us back up to speed on the main characters. It’s been a few years since I read the first one and by the end I was still wondering: why did Elise leave the church again? Why is Bambina so often at Aunt Quinlan’s house when she doesn’t seem to like anyone there? Who even is Ned and why is he here?
Meanwhile, there isn’t much plot. For the first 200 pages it looks like this might become a murder mystery, but then those elements are largely dropped until the end, though that storyline does wrap up in a reasonably satisfying way. Other subplots are either dropped or deferred to the next book despite significant page time: we never do find out, for instance, what was up with the shipwrecked woman and how her brother tricked her into leaving her husband, despite the book’s returning to this family several times. Did we really spend 50+ pages on this subplot just as an excuse to bring Elise to the Good Shepherd orphanage? Hard to say, in a book that often overdoes the background buildup. But those expecting tension, momentum and cohesiveness from their fiction will be disappointed. Those seeking a slice-of-life—following the principals on their errands with nothing in particular at stake, reading about cheerful marital foreplay, and stopping to learn the life story of the new stablehand—will be in heaven.
It is often sweet, and there’s something to be said for comfort reading, but still I was underwhelmed. It doesn’t do a great job of distinguishing the characters, and avoiding any real threats to them makes it harder to emotionally invest. Sometimes warm-and-fuzzy fiction can also take the warmth and fuzziness to a point that it’s jarringly unlikely, which happened for me here, for instance when Jack’s partner turns pale on hearing that a nonverbal former foster child of Jack’s is probably seriously ill. Blood rushing out of your face requires an intense emotional reaction and I had a hard time believe that an experienced detective (or for that matter, almost anyone) would respond that strongly to hearing bad news affecting someone they don’t know well.
But juxtaposed with all this sweetness and light are murders sufficiently gruesome and torturous to stand out in a much darker book than this one. This book is more a mystery than the last, and one of the reasons I avoid mysteries is that most of them seem to depend on horrible crimes against bit-part female characters. Why, while we call out “women in refrigerators” as a motivational tool for male characters, don’t we yet object to the trope as a plot device and foil for strong heroines? It’s as if as a culture we think female empowerment can exist only alongside female degradation.
So I have mixed feelings about this book. It is quite readable and while at times it feels a little like wading through treacle (very sweet but takes forever to get anywhere), the fact remains that I zoomed through it. The physical setting is immersive, and while the characters’ attitudes feel rather modern, I suspect that too is a feature rather than a bug for Donati’s fans. I don’t think I’ll read the third book but don’t feel particular ill will toward the series.