The Armageddon Strain follows the familiar formula from Winds of Evil: smart, female heroine from Indiana bumps into old flame during mourning for recently deceased family member. Things are not what they seem -- inhuman creatures soon reveal a diabolical plan, and off we go.

Our star is Dr. Maggie Hilliard Taylor, a college professor/scientist who had followed in the path of her mysteriously dead father. We learn Maggie is separated from her PhD husband Jackson, due to Maggie's bout of alcoholism, following the accidental death of the couple's young daughter. Returning home a few years later for her father's funeral, Maggie deals with her twin brother and sister-in-law attempting to set her up with an old boyfriend from high school -- a man with a suspicious background of his own.

We also meet an out-of-left field father of one of Maggie's potential college students, who's more interested in Maggie than his daughter's education; a Native American doctor and his missionary girlfriend; a diabolical R&D CEO with an evil board of trustees; and various and sundry agents and scientists. These colorful characters add to the underlying plot of a mysterious disease spreading from chickens to cows to humans and the R&D company's plans to vaccinate the world's population. (Or is that the real plan?)

Gilbert has a terrific knack for creating realistic personalities in her characters. Early on, I realized what makes Maggie tick and soon, I could guess her reactions. But Gilbert's prose becomes a bit disjointed here. In the first few chapters we hear a lot about Maggie's longing for a drink, but then it goes virtually unmentioned for several chapters, though there's no indication she's dropped it. Maggie's husband is mentioned very rarely until toward the end of the book, where we are given a more in-depth glimpse, only to be pulled away again.

Gilbert makes a gallant attempt at showing us Middle America in her characters' dialogue, however I often found it corny and unbelievable. Being from Indiana, I'm allowed to say that (ha!). Her demonic characters in The Armageddon Strain also feel too comic and caricaturistic, complete with over-the-top evil laughs and inconsistent natures (wait until you meet the dragon).

Now I could live with all of the above and still enjoy the book. But there's one thing Gilbert describes excessively in The Armageddon Strain that exceeds my patience: food. That's right. Food. From start to finish, every time anyone eats (which happens often), she gives deep insights into every available entree, side dish, drink preference, and on and on. And of course, let's not forget dessert. We hear about it anytime a character is famous for a certain dish, whether another character has had it, and all of this trivia is delivered with extreme enthusiasm from the author. It's quirky overkill that tells the reader nothing meaningful about the characters, nor does it further the plot. Why the author felt the need to bloat her story with this kind of useless sensory description, I can't imagine.

Sharon Gilbert is a very talented writer, but The Armageddon Strain just has too many flaws to qualify as one of her best efforts. The book's packaging indicates that this is the beginning of a series -- here's hoping the next one is a tighter, more focused work of fiction.

But sometimes things go wrong and the grand plans the lovers have do not turn out as they had hoped. This is part of the setup for Sebastien Japrisot's vivid, poignant novel, A Very Long Engagement, a story that looks at the lengths a person will go to in order to have their worst fears confirmed or wholly dispelled.

Mathilde Donnay and Jean "Manech" Etchevery are the teenaged lovers who become separated by The Great War and the madness that accompanies such a scenario. Enough time on the front lines passes and Manech attempts to get himself sent home by shooting himself in the hand. Trouble is, he and many others are called out for perceived cowardice, and are instead sentenced to be killed by a most unusual firing squad: being paraded to the front lines and tossed into No-Man's Land between French and German trenches.

The desperation that accompanies such an action is among the many facets of the harshness of war that is described in this novel. Japrisot writes in a very painstaking manner, lingering on the landscape while chilling the reader's fingers with the bitter cold that envelopes the soldiers during the mysterious events that occur one morning in January, 1917. War is tiresome, it is numbing and if you aren't killed physically, Japrisot demonstrates that the experience will nearly kill your spirit.

Paralyzed from the waist down as the result of a childhood accident, Mathilde, however, does not suffer from such a death of spirit. No one can honestly tell her how Manech supposedly died that morning, as the memories of that day are so murky and confusing, and so she simply refuses to believe that he really is dead. In the months and years that follow this day, she mounts a search for anyone connected to the other four individuals who were led out to die with Manech, to see what can be confirmed. Wives, mistresses, barkeeps, childhood friends, family members and war pals are among those questioned by Mathilde, to varying degrees of success.

What starts off as a staunch belief that Manech must be alive simply because her love for him wills him to be so, turns into a befuddling search that leads to more questions than answers. There are stories of one of the soldiers building a snowman before being shot down, another launching a grenade at a passing plane as it strafed the patch of land with bullets, and then there are the dozens of eyewitness accounts that seem to point to all five of the soldiers dying out there... maybe... at least they're pretty sure that's how it happened.

The structure of the novel is quite winning if a bit unique, in that it contains far more exposition than dialogue, jumps back and forth between past and present tense, jumps from one point of view to another, and adds significant details to the story through the reproduction of dozens of letters. I also challenge you to read this novel without looking at the copyright beforehand to see if you can guess when it was written -- you may be as surprised as I was because the style suggests one era while the reality reflects another.

Moments of welcome levity appear in the writing throughout, succinctly portraying another part of a given character's sensibilities, while demonstrating Japrisot's skill with description. This section comes from Mathilde's point of view:

The two monsters, Ludovic and Bastien, eight and six years'
worth of nastiness, have long since gone off to wet their beds.

There are times when it becomes downright confusing to keep up with the various characters that come in and out of the scenes however, and this may be the biggest drawback to some readers. Some of the characters reappear enough for their purpose in the story to be cemented with greater ease, but when nicknames are added to soldiers and friends, you really end up having to pay attention to just exactly who is who.

A Very Long Engagement could very well have suffered from an excess of description and a poorly-told story because of the fashion in which Japrisot presents it, but everything is held together and the story flows. The characters are appropriately pathetic, winning, caustic or outlandish, and the mysteries that continue to unravel as Mathilde mounts her search make for an increasingly engaging read.

We are brought along on this ride and left to question whether we would have the faith and courage of this young woman to refuse to accept what everyone else has accepted as fact. Such devotion, love, and faith seem a rare thing in this day and age, but in Mathilde here, we have a reminder of how powerful those characteristics can ultimately be.

He has a penchant for long, detailed sentences which, in addition to requiring re-reading at parts, generally encourages the reader to have a dictionary handy as well. But this should not scare anyone off -- there is something magnetic about the way he writes, despite his verbosity. Chabon has this way of toying with the reader, alternating between maddeningly long sentences, and others that are brief and seem to include just the right words. And boy can he weave a story.

The Final Solution: A Story of Detection finds Chabon treading into the waters of mystery-solving, and this one is a winner. Set in the English countryside in the summer of 1944, the focus is on a murder at a boarding house. Among the other factors that come into play are the disappearance of a parrot that periodically spits out a series of numbers in German, a mute German Jewish boy of nine who has escaped Germany with the parrot, a possibly unfaithful wife, and a man who may be doing more than working for Her Majesty's Dairy Research program.

A near ninety-year-old former detective is brought in to help solve the case, and though he is never named, he is known and respected (begrudgingly, at least) by many. Thirty years removed from detective work, he is only intrigued by this case when he learns of the missing parrot, for the boy and the parrot happened to cross paths with him some time before the murder took place. Though he is slower now, physically, he still has a keen eye for details and his mind is razor sharp, so he remembers the peculiarity of the meeting very well.

As with any other mystery, there are red herrings and surprising revelations that take place along the way and the ending certainly is worth the trip. It's also nice that all of the German that is spoken isn't translated because enough can be inferred from what else is happening -- less capable writers would spell everything out for the reader, so the fact that he doesn't is a major plus. The descriptions flow exceptionally well and each sentence feels like it says exactly what needs to be said and nothing more, so it is quite economical that way.

The mystery surrounding the parrot is an unusual, intriguing element as well. When it isn't singing old show tunes, it draws the interest of others by squawking out varied combinations of numbers. A couple of the lodgers at the house of the Panickers (an appropriate name given the husband and wife's sensibilities) seem to think this could be a clue to some sort of bank account number. Are they mistaken? If not, who will benefit from the untold riches, and might one of them have gone so far as to commit the muder?

There is a lot of guessing in this novella, and just enough character development to make these people three-dimensional and interesting. It is quite polished and very well done. The Final Solution is fine story that should keep fans of Chabon's previous work salivating at the prospect of his next, and hopefully longer, work.

The second installment of A Series of Unfortunate Events in the lives of the Baudelaire orphans begins with a trip past the horseradish factory down Lousy Lane and into the life of Dr. Montgomery Montgomery. Uncle Monty, who is not really their uncle at all, has agreed to take in Violet, Klaus, and Sunny after their disastrous stay with Count Olaf. The children are delighted to find that Uncle Monty is kind and attentive. He provides Violet a room with paper tacked to the walls so she can sketch out her inventions, Klaus a room with an over-stuffed chair and a pleasant reading lamp, and Sunny a room filled with hard items perfect for biting. The orphans soon get used to their uncle's odd profession -- herpetology -- and even begin to prepare for their snake-collecting expedition to Peru. All seems well... until Uncle Monty's new assistant arrives.

From the moment Stephano appears, the Baudelaires are certain he is none other than Count Olaf in disguise. However, they are unable to convince the sweet-natured Uncle Monty, and later the oblivious Mr. Poe, that evil has taken up residence in their house. They are forced to go along with Stephano's ruse, knowing that Count Olaf will not hesitate to kill them, or chop off their toes. When Uncle Monty is found dead (in a startling bit of dramatic irony) of snakebite, Stephano reveals his plans to whisk the children away on the afternoon boat to Peru. Fortunately, by working together, Violet, Klaus, and Sunny prove that Stephano is guilty of murder. Despite the evidence, as you would expect in A Series of Unfortunate Events, Count Olaf and his evil associates disappear without a trace, leaving the three orphans alone with Mr. Poe again.

Lemony Snicket again succeeds in weaving a tale of promise and injustice for his three young protagonists. The freshness of the narrator's voice is just as successful in the sequel. At the beginning of a scene where the children trick the adults in order to examine evidence in Stephano's suitcase, Snicket writes that the story of the very dull Boy Who Cried Wolf has two morals, the most truthful being, "Never live somewhere where wolves are running around loose." The second, "absurd" moral is not to lie. Of course, Snicket writes, sometimes lying is necessary in extreme circumstances such as these.

While on the surface, some of Snicket's comments may seem inappropriate for younger readers, it seems to me that he fairly illustrates the situations that some kids endure. Let's face it; many children today would probably say that they too are caught in a series of unfortunate events. Even though their stories may not involve a scary man chasing them for their fortunes, or fat, winged toads in the downstairs sun room, some kids even need to lie to protect themselves sometimes.

Beyond simply touching on difficult circumstances, Snicket gives readers a way to cope with them. Escape in this book for a while. Remember that life is still good and that there are people who will help you. I have recommended this series to kids as old as sixteen, and they have loved the books, realizing that their own serious problems shrink to manageable proportions when compared to the Baudelaires' predicaments.

And for those readers whose lives are relatively easy, Snicket's fantastic stories are absolutely necessary. A Series of Unfortunate Events builds empathy and understanding in a media culture all too consumed with self-love.

What price are we willing to pay, and what price should we be willing to pay? That is the question Ted Dekker presents in his latest (soon-to-be) bestseller, Obsessed.

The story, in itself, is simple. A holocaust survivor named Rachel Spritzer dies in Los Angeles and donates much of her estate to the Holocaust Museum, including a very rare, unique item -- one of the five Stones of David. The Stones of David are rumored to be the same five stones that David used when he faced Goliath. They have since been gilded and marked with a five-pointed star. They have slipped in and out of Jewish and Christian history, last seen in the 1300s, in the possession of the Knights Templar, and were rumored to be among the spoils of war that Hitler selected for their value and supposed supernatural powers.

Stephen Friedman is a Jew who would rather forget his past, especially since he was orphaned during World War II. He feels that after spending the first 20 years of his life in Russia seeking his parents, that his immigration to America is a chance for a new start. But like most Jews, he still finds his place in the Jewish community, living with Chaim Leveler, who helped him immigrate -- a man he chooses to call Rabbi. Chaim, however, cannot truly claim the title because he has chosen to become a Messianic Jew.

On the other side of the fence is Roth Braun, a German who grew up in the shadows of his father's concentration camp in Torun, Poland. He hates the Jewish people; especially a few select Jews who he feels stole his father's power, as well as some of his father's possessions, towards the end of the war.

The two men find themselves on a collision course when Braun's aging father Gerhard sends him to America to retrieve the Stones and a journal that were stolen from him by a woman -- Rachel Spritzer. But Rachel Spritzer also leaves behind a letter that can prove the identity of her son. I can't bring myself to ruin any more of Dekker's fantastically plotted story by retelling it in my own words.

"The value of an idea is determined by how appealing the idea is to someone. If you want something desperately, you will pay desperately. Isn't that true?"

As always, Dekker delivers. Through his fast-paced storytelling style, we slip back and forth between 1973 Los Angeles and 1944 Poland, learning the middle of the story, as both sides approach each other, revealing more and more of the truth behind what happened at Torun and what's really happening in the main story, in 1973. Along the way, Dekker mixes equal parts psychological thriller with occultic and dramatic mystery and a touch of Indiana Jones-style archaeology, giving all three genres his unique twist while spinning a yarn that is near impossible to put down.

Fans of Dekker's previous novels will find some familiar themes and ideas, especially as Stephen drives himself further and further into peril, without seeming contrived or even admitting to himself what's happening. The presence of strong Christian and Jewish characters will probably bring Dekker more readers from the Christian fiction mainstream who have never quite accepted his writing style, but his presentation, excellent plotting, and story development will still engender him to the many fans he has among the Amazon and Barnes & Noble set.

As always, Dekker builds in some startlingly abrupt surprise twists, and even had me fooled, thinking I had figured one out, only to learn that it didn't really matter in the long run. Long-time Dekker fans will also recognize his position on love, expressed through a handful of characters, and his trademark style of wrapping a biblical philosophy within a story that allows us to see it from a new perspective.

My few minor complaints (and believe me, I'm really nitpicking here), stem from the creation of minor characters that seem to have the promise of a larger part to play, but disappear off the radar rapidly. It's been my experience that Dekker's characters are always fully fleshed out and have a larger purpose. There are at least three in this story that play minor roles and are then abruptly cut from the story.

Overall, this is one of Dekker's best books, and hands-down the best novel I have read all year, although I think I'll always be partial to Thr3e.

So begins the tale of the unfortunate Baudelaire siblings, and the rather unusual Series of Unfortunate Events that has launched itself into nationwide fame.

The story opens with Violet, Klaus, and Sunny Baudelaire spending a gray afternoon on Briny Beach. Violet, age fourteen, has long hair and a knack for inventing useful things from limited resources. Klaus, age twelve, is an avid reader with a mind like a set of encyclopedias. Sunny, age one, has four sharp teeth and loves to bite. When a strange, coughing man approaches the siblings this fateful afternoon, he brings word of the first unfortunate event: their mansion has burnt down, killing their parents. All this by page eight!

To make matters worse, Mr. Poe, the coughing executor of their parents' estate, has been charged with finding convenient relatives to take in the children. The first on the list is Count Olaf. As you might guess from his sinister name, Olaf is only interested in the children's inheritance. He and his troupe of "actors" devise many difficult tasks for the three Baudelaires, including taking parts in his latest play, The Marvelous Marriage. This ploy to become Violet's husband and so gain the fortune -- after which Olaf will kill the two unnecessary siblings -- is the Baudelaires' first great challenge. They must use all their talents -- even biting -- to escape the evil Count's clutches.

While it may seem that all the sadness and misfortune can be overwhelming to younger readers, the message of the story is clear: no matter what happens, use what you can to improve your lot... and don't give up, because you never know what changes tomorrow will bring. Even though the lines between good and evil can be blurry -- for instance, you wonder how Mr. Poe can leave the children in the care of such a monster -- there are still lines in Lemony Snicket's world, and the evil never overcomes the goodness of working together to save each other.

One of the best parts about The Bad Beginning is the introduction of a fresh narrative voice. Lemony Snicket is as much the author's pseudonym as a character in the series. Starting with his opening warning, Snicket constantly enters into the story by explaining word meanings or by translating Sunny's baby talk into complex sentences or by offering social commentary. Example: "...one type of book that practically no one likes to read is a book about the law. Books about the law are notorious for being very long, very dull, and very difficult to read. This is one reason many lawyers make heaps of money. The money is an incentive -- the word 'incentive' here means 'an offered reward to persuade you to do something you don't want to do' -- to read long, dull, and difficult books." Snicket's dry humor offers refreshing pauses for those readers apt to take the Baudelaires' misfortunes to heart.

The Bad Beginning is practically required reading for middle school students these days due to its popularity. I think it should be required reading for parents as well. Read it together, and cultivate some empathy for others, particularly children, who have no control over what happens in their lives. The adult world can be treacherous, but it's nothing three resourceful siblings -- and a tongue-in-cheek narrator -- can't handle together.

We learn right away that Mibby Garrett is a widow, and we are instantly pulled into her world. While still struggling to cope with the painful loss of her beloved Scott, Mibby immerses herself in her garden design business. Indeed, plants and gardens are an ongoing theme in the story, as each chapter opens with Mibby's daily forecast and updates on her own garden.

But as Mibby takes comfort in frequent "blubberfests" and avoiding what she calls "whammies o' grief," her 12-year-old son Ky is enduring his own confusion and loss, and acting out accordingly. And just as she thinks things can't get any worse, a young girl enters her life bearing stunning news that sends Mibby reeling with questions about how well she really knew her late husband.

The book is peopled with memorable characters -- some eccentric and some just plain wonderful, like Mibby's ever-optimistic Southern neighbor Louise, who bolsters Mibby's faith with frequent sermons and lots of love, humor, and baked goods left over from her bed-and-breakfast.

Complicating matters is Mibby's growing attraction to Ben, one of her male clients, over which she feels confusion and even guilt.

Like the comforting touch of a good friend, this book captures a widow's journey from pain and grief to growing faith and hopefulness, and does so absorbingly, with gentle humor and realism. Patti Hill is a gifted storyteller who possesses a lovely and engaging way with words. I look forward to future work from this talented new author.

Miller's work is a culmination of various journal entries, newspaper/magazine articles and excerpts from other previous publications. He brings them all together in this work with underlying glue -- each piece's theme is a confrontation of heart the author has experienced in his Christian walk. Miller categorizes each selection to seven different subjects, covering modern day Christianity, sex, hypocrisy, substitutions for faith, modern parables, putting Jesus back in the calendar, and faith at home.

Having not read any of Calvin Miller's works previously, the first thing I noticed is his sense of humor. What better way to deal with our shortcomings than to laugh at them? After The Unfinished Soul is lead off by "The Night the Wind Blew," a reflective story of experiencing the Holy Spirit, Miller soon goes after our funny bones, with "Good-bye Jesus, from the Media" (scary how real it is) and "The Politically Correct Version of John 7:53 -- 8:12." Many other subjects get the ha-ha treatment, from the denomination prejudice of "On Trapping Werewolves" and the deceiving televangelist in "The Night of the Anchovy" to Santa Claus's apology to the less fortunate ("The North Pole Apology") and the Pinocchio take-off on free will in "Penteuchio" (in which a childless Rabbi widdles a son from a wooden table leg.)

Miller has a go at some classics, as well. "The Eighth Deadly Sin" adds a twist to C.S. Lewis's The Screwtape Letters, and the Psalm 100 spiritual is revisited not once, but twice. "Sleeping Ugly" is an amazing parable and parody of Sleeping Beauty.

The author proves he is not all about far-fetched fiction also. "The Book of God" is a lovely prose on love and the awe of the Creator. "Friday and Sunday" brings a poetic joy to Jesus' Resurrection and "Two" creates a melancholy background for a couple on whom time is running out.

The real highlights of the book are the excellent "The Night the Sideshow Was Bought," in which Miller has us feeling we are those wonderful, purchased circus freaks, "X-Rated Muffins," a hilarious, but very accurate allegory on sexual purity and "Red Book, Blue Book" -- another allegorical tale that takes a razor through church snobbishness to get to the message of the book that teaches us about "God's Boy."

Calvin Miller has a smooth, artistic sensibility that truly equals humility. This attribute puts the author on an equal footing with the reader, which brings that much more insight into his material. His only somewhat annoying tendency is the denominational "inside joking" he uses in a few places (typically Baptist/Lutheran/Episcopal), but Miller restrains himself in the right places. The Unfinished Soul is an outstanding smorgasbord of Calvin Miller's talents that also provides more understanding of the author than a biography ever could.

So now you're wondering, who is Fred? Maybe we should rephrase the question: where is Fred? That's easy, it's a small town in Texas. Brad Whittington has populated Fred with characters that he claims are fictitious. But take it from someone who grew up in a small, southern town: the people of Fred are quite real. So real in fact, that many times it took me back to my own childhood. I'm not going to spoil this book by telling you too much in the review. Suffice to say that if you've ever wanted an inside track to the southern mystique of religion and life, you ought to start here.

There are spectacular colloquialisms on nearly every other page. For one, Fredonians call each other "doll." For another, they refer to themselves in the third person as "yer daddy." And you'll find more colorful southern sayings being "beaten like a rented mule" throughout the novel. It is this kind of realism that makes Living with Fred so compulsively readable.

Mark Cloud could be considered the focus of Living with Fred, or maybe it's his father. Mark's father is the pastor of a small Baptist church in town. If you've ever been to a small Baptist church in the south, then you know it is a hotbed of activity... good and bad. Whittington could have given us a glossy, Norman Rockwell poster of a book, but instead he gives us the real deal. The real deal, as it turns out, may be gritty at times; but it's much more touching and inspiring.

Mark Cloud finds a copy of the book In His Steps while doing his chores around the church. In His Steps, for better or worse, was the genesis of the "What Would Jesus Do" movement. The book causes Mark to ask a very interesting question: "Is Jesus the Rorschach figure that caused people to see what they wanted to see?" So he attempts to find out, and becomes so mystified by this book that it gives him pause at every turn. After all, how would he know what Jesus would do?

It turns out that Jesus would do one thing that the head deacon of his father's church doesn't like one bit -- like being kind to an alcoholic bootlegger. Jesus would also do things that make Mark uncomfortable, like forgiving an unrepentant practical joker or meet with a crazy, deadly man and hope to shake him up a bit.

Living with Fred is a novel of subtleties and nuggets of truth. It is about both hope and tragic despair. And as it happens, it's also very funny. Its final pages make for some of the best reading I've done in a long time. But the book's best quality is the transparent honesty of a young man trying in his own misguided way to make his father proud. This is a feel-good book to be sure. But not in the schmaltzy, warm, fuzzy way that most feel-good fiction is today.

Brad Whittington has some profound things to say, but the charm and candor of his narrative style deftly camouflages his witty articulations. You'll find yourself re-reading passages, thinking, Whoa, that's deep.

So is Brad Whittington a great author? Yer daddy thinks he is.