change and how we will be judged by future generations. It is also an intricate story of adultery, secrets and lies. And there is a murder as well.

By 2119, the world population has declined due to environmental changes and global conflicts. Many animals have become extinct.  Britain is an archipelago of islands, America is partly under water in a state of civil war, China is a democracy, and Nigeria is the tech hub of the world.   Nature, however, is beginning to flourish once again. People drink acorn coffee and eat protein bars.  Universities still exist! And so does the internet! But there is no GPS as the satellites have burned up. Encryptions no longer work due to advances in computing, and all material that previous generations put on the internet, including emails, journals and texts, are freely available to everyone (beware of what you post online!). 

The first part of the book is narrated by Tom, and the second part is narrated by Vivien.   The narrative takes interesting twists and turns. McEwan’s writing is cerebral and stylish. The characters continue to reside in my head, and I would love to read the book all over again.

I have always enjoyed reading Ian McEwan’s works.  I loved Atonement (I enjoyed the movie as well) and Amsterdam.    I recall not liking Saturday as much.   I remember reading On Chesil Beach, but I cannot recollect my feelings about the book.

What We Can Know was published in September of this year and is not in the Coffman Library yet.  Our library owns Atonement (2014), Sweet Tooth (2012) and The Children Act (2014); all can be found in the Fiction section. ​

 secrets. The story moves with Nuri from Cairo to London to Geneva and various places in between.

Matar’s language is chiseled and elegant as he describes Nuri’s efforts to develop an intimacy with his father after his mother’s death and his longing for his father after his disappearance.  In searing, sensual prose, Matar delves into Nuri’s relationships with the women in is life: his mother, his stepmother, and their family maid Naima. The story told from the point of an adolescent has an Arabian talelike quality and is a compelling work of fiction exposing the gruesome wrongs which are sometimes inflicted upon innocent bystanders.

There are several autobiographical elements in this novel.  Matar was born in New York City to Libyan parents.  He spent his childhood in Tripoli and Cairo and now lives in London and New York.   His father, Jaballa Matar, a prominent opponent of the Qaddafi regime was kidnapped while living in exile in Cairo and is still missing. Much of Matar’s writing deals with absence and loss.
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The book is not currently a part of the Coffman Library’s collection.  In the meantime, if you are interested in the author our library does own Matar’s My Friends. Look for it in the Fiction section shelved under the author’s last name. 

attention for quite a while. Everything tired me out. A gentle friend from Coffman offered to read to me. I asked for children’s literature, and she kindly offered it. Winnie the Pooh and Little Bitty Raindrop delighted me. More than anything the tone of voice and language in the stories offered me solace and healing. Indeed, stories heal and sustain our faith in values we know to live by.

So, some friends and I have continued the reading-out-aloud tradition with children’s literature with tea and treats every so often and have loved it. Books, company, tea, delight in language, puns, important questions asked and answered by tiny animals through allegory, a discussion of what makes writers like Beatrix Potter, Lewis Carroll, Kate DiCamillo, J.M Barrie, E.B. White, and others turn to producing fantasy tales are an absolute treat.

Coffman Library has a small collection of children/teens literature, including picture books. Those of us with grandchildren are familiar with the collection. I’d like to highlight a couple of children’s and teens’ books that might find you delighted when you want a break from the news of the day and/or are feeling down.

Sir Salman Rushdie’s Haroun and the Sea of Stories (1990) was his first book written for his son, Zafar, after the Ayatollah Khomeini of Iran issued a fatwa (edict) around the Islamic world of believers to assassinate him for writing his fifth book, The Satanic Verses (1988), understood as blasphemy against Islam. His life was threatened by a young assassin born after The Satanic Verses was published with a near-fatal stabbing at an event in the Chautauqua Institution in 2022, about which he wrote Knife. He has never been able to shake that fatwa off his shoulders even though the current ayatollah has decided not to enforce it. When he was most vulnerable personally, in hiding and under protection from the British secret service, he wrote to connect with his son through storytelling. Critics have called it a classic folktale where the hero travels to strange lands to lift a curse and save someone (his parents in this case). A Booker Prize winner, Rushdie writes in many genres, including children’s books, and Haroun and the Sea of Stories is one of them. Haroun is a twelve-year-old boy whose mother leaves home; his father, an extraordinary storyteller, feels guilty and loses his art of storytelling. Haroun desires to restore his father’s loss of talent and bring his mother back. Forgiveness and restoration of normalcy is the goal for young Haroun. It must have been Rushdie’s own desire as well. The book is funny, the language is delightful, and it captures the essence of Arabian Nights as well as The Wizard of Oz. The primary battle is between freedom of speech and enforced silence; between light/color and darkness/night–-a topic that might feel extremely relevant for us today.

Kate Di Camillo’s The Tale of Despereaux (2003), her third book, won a Newberry medal in 2004. She is one of seven writers who have won the medal twice. It is the gripping tale of a tiny mouse who suffers because he is different from his siblings, and hence, abandoned by everyone. As always, he must learn the rules of his culture and his group who punish him for doing something he is not supposed to do: go anywhere near the king or the princess. He is sent to a dark dungeon where the rats live and who want to manipulate and destroy mice and humans living in the castle. DiCamillo’s literary device is what we find in Rushdie’s tale as well: a battle between light and dark ensues. The unlikely hero succeeds after considerable turns in the plot. The people in power, such as the king and the hero’s parents and adult members of his tribe, must all seek forgiveness for their immoral behavior before things return to a balance between good and evil. The book has been received well by critics and readers alike despite those parents who prefer not to see topics like abandonment, parental abuse, and grief addressed at all. Other parents have argued that the reality of life is important. The need for children to see what they observe in their own lives in school and at home is important. DiCamillo’s narrator is particularly good at asking questions and allowing little readers to learn how to overcome their fears. She even addresses the typical folktale expectation of happily-ever-after with great nuance and sensitivity. It was wonderful to see her walk her young readers through emotional pitfalls so that the end feels satisfying and good. Critics have said that she herself suffered emotional abuse at home, and this writing is a way to work through her own healing.

These are certainly books not to be dismissed. They get at serious concerns, come out of individual experiences, and both educate and entertain–the goal of all literature, isn’t it? You might want to pick up one of them just to give yourself a little break.