A well-written tale that sometimes uneasily mingles its affection for childhood with metaphysical insights.



In Gaur’s debut novel, an imaginative, mischievous Anglo-Indian girl changes the lives of those around her.

In the Indian army camp of Mhow in the late 1970s, “life was deliciously simple,” according this novel’s third-person narrator. “It took very little to make people happy, and they laughed a lot more than we do now.” Yet things are somewhat static, overall—until a 6-year-old Anglo-Indian youngster and her parents move in. Emma “Bunny” Hudson is an instant favorite in the neighborhood; her fair skin, blue eyes, and blond curly hair are a novelty, and she has an endearing giggle that’s “laden with just the right proportion of joy and mischief.” Bunny questions everything, is fearless, and has wonderful ideas, such as camping at night or starting a rock ’n’ roll band. She has dyslexia, so she has difficulty in school, but she has numerous talents. “Everyone says she’s the naughtiest kid on the block,” Bunny’s mother, Debbie, says, “and naughtiness is a sign of brilliance too.” Later, following a tragedy, Bunny’s grandmother joins an ashram, dedicating herself to the service of others, and Bunny’s childhood friend, Vikram Rathore, becomes convinced that he and Bunny are eternal soul mates. Over the course of this book, Gaur celebrates children’s freedom, purity, and charm with enormous fondness. However, the novel’s overly doting manner toward Bunny can become grating, as does its insistence that “Childhood is the only phase of life worth living.” This is a depressing notion, although the novel seems to prove that sentiment wrong later, when an adult attains a deeply meditative state that “opens the door to one’s infinite subconscious,” which is surely worthwhile. At times, the novel feels naïve, resembling Victorian works that tie a child’s innocence to early death. Gaur’s writing is vivid, however, and his theme is ambitious, and for some, the novel’s spiritual lessons about life after death will strike a chord.

A well-written tale that sometimes uneasily mingles its affection for childhood with metaphysical insights.

Pub Date: May 3, 2019

ISBN: 978-1-5437-0450-1

Page Count: 222

Publisher: PartridgeIndia

Review Posted Online: July 29, 2019

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A tasty, if not always tasteful, tale of supernatural mayhem that fans of King and Crichton alike will enjoy.


Are we not men? We are—well, ask Bigfoot, as Brooks does in this delightful yarn, following on his bestseller World War Z (2006).

A zombie apocalypse is one thing. A volcanic eruption is quite another, for, as the journalist who does a framing voice-over narration for Brooks’ latest puts it, when Mount Rainier popped its cork, “it was the psychological aspect, the hyperbole-fueled hysteria that had ended up killing the most people.” Maybe, but the sasquatches whom the volcano displaced contributed to the statistics, too, if only out of self-defense. Brooks places the epicenter of the Bigfoot war in a high-tech hideaway populated by the kind of people you might find in a Jurassic Park franchise: the schmo who doesn’t know how to do much of anything but tries anyway, the well-intentioned bleeding heart, the know-it-all intellectual who turns out to know the wrong things, the immigrant with a tough backstory and an instinct for survival. Indeed, the novel does double duty as a survival manual, packed full of good advice—for instance, try not to get wounded, for “injury turns you from a giver to a taker. Taking up our resources, our time to care for you.” Brooks presents a case for making room for Bigfoot in the world while peppering his narrative with timely social criticism about bad behavior on the human side of the conflict: The explosion of Rainier might have been better forecast had the president not slashed the budget of the U.S. Geological Survey, leading to “immediate suspension of the National Volcano Early Warning System,” and there’s always someone around looking to monetize the natural disaster and the sasquatch-y onslaught that follows. Brooks is a pro at building suspense even if it plays out in some rather spectacularly yucky episodes, one involving a short spear that takes its name from “the sucking sound of pulling it out of the dead man’s heart and lungs.” Grossness aside, it puts you right there on the scene.

A tasty, if not always tasteful, tale of supernatural mayhem that fans of King and Crichton alike will enjoy.

Pub Date: June 16, 2020

ISBN: 978-1-9848-2678-7

Page Count: 304

Publisher: Del Rey/Ballantine

Review Posted Online: Feb. 10, 2020

Kirkus Reviews Issue: March 1, 2020

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If nothing else, you have to giggle over how this novel’s namesake, who held vicious white supremacist opinions, must be...


Some very nice, very smart African-Americans are plunged into netherworlds of malevolent sorcery in the waning days of Jim Crow—as if Jim Crow alone wasn’t enough of a curse to begin with.

In the northern U.S. of the mid-1950s, as depicted in this merrily macabre pastiche by Ruff (The Mirage, 2012, etc.), Driving While Black is an even more perilous proposition than it is now. Ask Atticus Turner, an African-American Korean War veteran and science-fiction buff, who is compelled to face an all-too-customary gauntlet of racist highway patrolmen and hostile white roadside hamlets en route from his South Side Chicago home to a remote Massachusetts village in search of his curmudgeonly father, Montrose, who was lured away by a young white “sharp dresser” driving a silver Cadillac with tinted windows. At least Atticus isn’t alone; his uncle George, who puts out annual editions of The Safe Negro Travel Guide, is splitting driving duties in his Packard station wagon “with inlaid birch trim and side paneling.” Also along for the ride is Atticus’ childhood friend Letitia Dandridge, another sci-fi fan, whose family lived in the same neighborhood as the Turners. It turns out this road trip is merely the beginning of a series of bizarre chimerical adventures ensnaring both the Turner and Dandridge clans in ancient rituals, arcane magical texts, alternate universes, and transmogrifying potions, all of which bears some resemblance to the supernatural visions of H.P. Lovecraft and other gothic dream makers of the past. Ruff’s ripping yarns often pile on contrivances and overextend the narratives in the grand manner of pulp storytelling, but the reinvented mythos here seems to have aroused in him a newfound empathy and engagement with his characters.

If nothing else, you have to giggle over how this novel’s namesake, who held vicious white supremacist opinions, must be doing triple axels in his grave at the way his imagination has been so impudently shaken and stirred.

Pub Date: Feb. 16, 2016

ISBN: 978-0-06-229206-3

Page Count: 432

Publisher: Harper/HarperCollins

Review Posted Online: Nov. 4, 2015

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Nov. 15, 2015

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