Monday, December 17, 2018

Fiction Review: We Hope for Better Things by Erin Bartels


Description:
When Detroit Free Press reporter Elizabeth Balsam meets James Rich, his strange request--that she look up a relative she didn't know she had in order to deliver an old camera and a box of photos--seems like it isn't worth her time. But when she loses her job after a botched investigation, she suddenly finds herself with nothing but time.

At her great-aunt's 150-year-old farmhouse north of Detroit, Elizabeth uncovers a series of mysterious items, locked doors, and hidden graves. As she searches for answers to the riddles around her, the remarkable stories of two women who lived in this very house emerge as testaments to love, resilience, and courage in the face of war, racism, and misunderstanding. And as Elizabeth soon discovers, the past is never as past as we might like to think.

Debut novelist Erin Bartels takes readers on an emotional journey through time--from the volatile streets of 1960s Detroit to the Michigan's Underground Railroad during the Civil War--to uncover the past, confront the seeds of hatred, and discover where love goes to hide.


My Review:
The title, We Hope for Better Things, says so much about this story. Elizabeth Balsam, the main character, takes readers on a journey through struggles, love, hate, and loss. I admit there were parts of this book I found difficult to read because the depravity of mankind is exposed, yet I wanted to keep reading as Elizabeth dug through her family's history with hope and determination to find truth. This is an important book and should be read for a better understanding of our history; in hopes that we'll be a better people. I remember my brother, in National Guards, had to go to Cincinnati for riots in the sixties. It was a scary time. Erin Bartels remarkable writing brings to light times of trouble with a degree of hope. This would be a great winter read. I received a complimentary copy of this book from Revell. Opinions expressed in this review are completely my own.

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