Review of Sascha Arango's The Truth and Other Lies

The Truth and Other Lies, by Sascha Arango (Atria Books, June 23, 2015)

Henry Hayden is one of those very successful writers who pumps out one best-selling thriller after another. His success saved the publishing house that discovered his first manuscript, he's charming to the fans who seek him out in the coastal village where he lives with his quiet wife, Martha, and he is modest and generous. Now, which of these things isn't true? As we find out right off the bat, it isn't Henry who is the writer, but Martha––though not a soul besides the couple knows that.

When Betty, Henry's editor and mistress tells him she's pregnant, Henry's carefully-arranged life threatens to unravel. Henry's quick fix goes awry and he has to engage in more and more complex schemes to avoid exposure of his current misdeeds––and the revelation of his past by an old acquaintance who promises to turn into a nemesis.

You might have figured out by now that Henry is a sociopath and this is one of those books (like Patricia Highsmith's Tom Ripley novels, for example) that invites us to identify with the amoral lead character. It was hard to do that at first; Henry is just too cold. But as we learn more about Henry, a bit of a thaw comes. Even if it's only admiration of Henry's skill at constructing complex schemes to wriggle out of trouble.

illustration from The New York Times

This short novel moves along quickly and I kept turning the pages as fast as I could to find out what happens to Henry––and to the manuscript Martha has been working on when the novel opens. I enjoyed the plotting, and the translation from the original German is well done.

There isn't much sense of place; in fact, I couldn't tell you where this is supposed to be set, other than that it's a coastal town and it's somewhere in Europe. I would also say that it's not nearly as skilled in roping the reader into "sympathy for the devil" as Phil Hogan’s A Pleasure and a Calling (one of my favorite reads of last year), but it's a quick and entertaining read.

Note: I received a free advance review copy of the book. Versions of this review may appear on Amazon, BookLikes and other reviewing sites under my usernames there.

Review of Suzanne Rindell's The Other Typist

Today we welcome a guest writer, Rich Stoehr, father to three beautiful daughters, avid reader, occasional reviewer, and newly-minted employee of Amazon.com.  Rich is here to review The Other Typist, by Suzanne Rindell, published on May 7 by Amy Einhorn Books/Putnam. This is one of the books we suggested a couple of weeks ago as a summer read, and it looks like Rich would happily urge you to carry it with you to your hammock. But before the review, a few words of introduction from Rich.

I'm honest, and I'm rarely afraid to speak my mind. I'm generous with my praise and I try to be constructive in my criticism. And I do love to entertain. Today, I'm happy to be alive, happy to be busy, happy to be doing what I love with people who I love to be around. In an ocean of experience, and in the words of John Green, I'm "grateful to be a little boat, full of water, still floating."



It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. The 1920s were a turbulent age for America, which Suzanne Rindell captures very neatly in The Other Typist.

On the surface, it's the story of Rose, a typist for a police station in New York City in 1923. Rose is, by her own description, the essence of plain, never offensive and easy to miss, dedicated to her job and to her moral center. The Other Typist is narrated by Rose herself, in the aftermath of an alluded-to event that only becomes clear near the end of the book. Enter into Rose's plain, ordered world a new typist––bright, brash, and independent Odalie. Though the two women could not be more different, they form a fast friendship.

As Rose and Odalie grow closer, we see the other side of New York in the '20s––the speakeasies and the parties and the new sensibilities. Odalie introduces Rose to the ever-deepening world underneath the rigidly-ordered world Rose has known. And gradually, we see that Rose's tale has an odd element to it––something vague and unsettling that doesn't quite sit right. As she begins to break her own rules, both in her dedication to the truth at the police precinct and in her personal life, the cracks in her narrative subtly reveal themselves.

Rindell's craft is finely-tuned here, and only rarely does she show a little too much of her hand as the story progresses. Rose's narrative voice is both plausible and enticing, hinting at things yet to come and never faltering. "The devil is in the details," Rose remarks at one point, and Rindell takes great care to get the details right here.

The story of Rose and Odalie's friendship is one of dichotomies––not only the difference between a life of rules and a life of independence, but of a nation still struggling to find its identity after a crippling war and in a new century. In Rose's struggle to find herself I saw a much deeper undercurrent of a traditional, conservative identity locking horns with the new and the exciting––tradition in conflict with possibility.

But they're not really so different, are they, Rose and Odalie? They are both products of their age, reflecting different aspects of the same era––opposing sides of the same coin. The best, and the worst of their time.

The question is, which is which? Who, in the end, is "The Other Typist"? Read it, and you just might figure it out for yourself.

Note: A version of this review may appear on Amazon and other reviewing sites under my user names there.