Book Review


Back in September I was asked by Lisa at Books on the Brain to take part in a virtual book tour for David Ebershoff‘s new book, The 19th Wife. Because I was flattered to be asked, and I would be getting a free hardcover copy of the novel, I agreed. I write for free books apparently.

The novel is part fictional autobiography of the infamous Ann Eliza Young the self-proclaimed 19th wife of uber-polygamist Brigham Young, the second president of the Latter Day Saints aka The Mormons, whose divorce from him attracted national attention and possibly led to the U.S. governments smack down on polygamy in Utah. It is also part murder mystery as Ebershoff attempts to tie Ann Eliza’s narrative to the plight of a modern day polygamy sect. In this narrative, a young gay man named Jordan is unwillingly drawn back into his family’s drama when his mother, a 19th wife, is accused of shooting his father in cold blood. 

In addition to the two main stories, a variety of sub-plots are tied together by supporting Ann Eliza’s depiction of the early LDS church as it is infected and then overtaken by plural marriage, and also by the various characters’ connections to the modern day Jordan and the sect in which he grew up and was ultimately ejected from as he reached manhood. There are side trips into the problems that plural marriage societies have caused today due to the banishment of young men and the perilous life of young women in these sects as well.

Where the novel works best is in its descriptions of what plural marriages did to the people involved and how it changed them. Its dim view of the effects of such adult relationships on children is quite well done. If there is a central message to be taken from the book, it’s that plural marriage is about the husband and everyone else involved – especially the children – are its victims.

Where the book slows or doesn’t work at all is with the sometimes rather lengthy side-trips that very minor characters are allowed to take that break the flow of the narrative. For example, Ann Eliza’s younger son is allowed to interrupt with a couple of long-winded letters to one of his mother’s biographers that are so off-topic I ended up skimming them. In fact, if I hadn’t committed to reviewing the novel, I would have skipped those sections entirely. There are also interruptions by Brigham Young himself via his sermonizing and a newspaper interview that slowed the story too despite his being a character of importance.

Because I love historical fiction, I found the tiny ways in which Ebershoff tied past and present together via family relations fascinating and well done, but I wondered if the average reader would pick up on them. For example, one of Ann Eliza’s biographers is also a great-great granddaughter who subsequently becomes involved with Jordan during his time investigating his father’s murder. It was a nice touch though it doesn’t really add to the story.

I found the characterizations very well done though sometimes it was the minor characters who would shine through more strongly and vividly than the two main characters of Ann Eliza and Jordan. Ann Eliza’s parents are each given a voice and are far better at spelling out the complexity of the plural marriage issue than either of the main characters. Sometimes I found myself wishing it was their story and not their daughter’s I was reading.

In the end, the murder mystery itself is not very compelling. I didn’t really care who killed Jordan’s dad because he was such a repellent person I couldn’t imagine anyone lamenting his death – not even Jordan’s mother, who is so thoroughly indoctrinated in the bogus idea of redemption through multiple marriage that she willingly abandoned Jordan when he was just fourteen and professes love of his father even though he’d cast her off for newer, younger women.

In the end it is the side-shows which make the novel such a good read, and it was a good read. I finished it in less than a week, devouring it a hundred pages at a time in some sittings. It is an ambitious undertaking and a timely topic. Even if a person doesn’t generally read history or its fictional equivalent, I still think he/she would enjoy this novel and recommend it to everyone.

If you would like to find out more about this book, check out the rest of his book tour here.


I was asked to participate in a virtual book tour for author David Ebershoff’s new novel, The 19th Wife. My review will appear on Nov. 5th on this site, though there are others reading and reviewing as well beginning Oct.15. If you have a bit of idle time, and you are interested in new reads, please check out some of these reviews and stop by on the 5th for my own assessment.

In the meantime, you can learn more about Ebershoff and his book by listening to the following NPR podcast: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=93218227


Globe and Mail writer, Christie Blatchford, was moaning about blogging and bloggers in Thursday’s paper, so in her honor I have decided to write the most banal of all blogging pieces – the update on my life.

I find “real” writers’ abhorence of blogs and their laments about the decline of “real” writing and journalism amusing. Newspapers long ago succumbed to the tabloidy tricks that placed selling above content. Print will never be able to compete with cable news channels and the Internet for timeliness of delivery, and when it comes to depth of topic, the political blogs have the edge and the freedom. Everything evolves. Just ask Darwin.

Besides journalists with blue-blooded leanings make lousy bloggers anyway.

So read along as I squander my finite word bank* by committing to the blogosphere my “most idle thoughts and mundane obeservations”**

My funked up mood from earlier in the week has cleared up thanks to a near complete abandonment of my schedule. No gym. Late lunches. Later suppers. No manuscript.

I just did as I pleased, and oddly it pleased me to reorganize the bathroom closet and search out the source of the fouler by the day odor in the cabinet where the dry goods are kept. The former is still awaiting final purge approval from the husband and the latter turned out to be a sack of something that had reached the gelatinous stage of decomposition therefore defying labeling attempts by both Rob and I.

I attended writing group on Tuesday evening and managed to be racially offensive to a potential new member of Cree descent. I didn’t do it on purpose but as I was explaining more of my novel to the group after reading the first several pages, I mentioned that one of the stories my main character tells is based on a family story. My grandmother’s great- uncle was the source of much concern when he was a toddler because a local native woman took quite the shine to him and hovered about whenever they ventured into town. The family, like most white immigrant settlers of the time, mistakenly thought she might snatch him. I could see the new member tightening as I told the story – even though I explained its origins and how it fit within my novel. I hate having to weigh words. I hate more that when people are offended they often fume instead of speaking up.

I finalized my writing course picks for the fall. Made out my yoga class schedule.

I prepared a new dish for supper.***

BabyD and I shopped. For her. She is quite the opinionated little clothes pony. While trying on a variety of pants, she jumped, pranced and wiggled – admiring herself in the full-length mirror as she did so. One pair of leggings left her standing completely still and not smiling. When I inquired about this, I was told,

“This pants don’t make me dance, Mom.”

A girl with her priorities straight.

While at the cute children’s clothes boutique, which is actually in The Fort, I overheard the owner mention she was looking for part-time help and I inquired. I nearly danced myself when she asked me to bring in a resume. Until I remembered that I don’t want to work for someone and that I dislike “service” work. Oh, and I am none to fond of the constant flow of humanity in the real world and that I find most things SAHM-ish incomprehensibly dull.

In fact now that I am sounding a bit more mommy-bloggish than I am comfortable with- let’s get back to me, shall we?

All deck work stopped this week. Rob and I are slightly fried around the edges and have just taken a step back from all the reno for this week. Sometimes one needs to surf the web and watch pointless movies in bed.

I got back to contributing at Moms Speak Up. Wrote a piece on Texas teachers being allowed to carry concealed weapons on the job. I won’t go into why this is the worst idea ever but if you knew some of the people I have worked with over the course of two decades, you would just take me at my word. I have yet to meet the educator who hasn’t uttered the phrase “It’s a good thing I wasn’t carrying a gun” at least once in their career – out loud and in the presence of witnesses.

Oh, and I have been reading. A novel.

Finally, I finished tagging my earliest blog posts from mid 2006 until about the time Rob and I started dating. Mostly very depressing widow stuff, but if that kind of thing interests you or you would like to know where I started my blogging journey, I am now easy to search under widowhood or grief. They can also be found under remarriage or long distance relationships or YWBB. Enjoy.

* Michael Farber of Sports Illustrated believes that writers have but a finite number of printable word combinations in them and to blog is to basically piss them to the wind.

** To quote Ms. Blatchford

*** That deserves its own paragraph. I am sure my husband can attest to the wonder of my attempting to expand my meager repertoire.