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When a heated argument between her parents takes a violent turn, 4-year-old Rachel Rabinowitz loses everything she's ever known—her guardians, her older brother, and her home.  Taken from her Lower Eastside tenement, the frightened child is thrust into the Hebrew Infant Home, a New York City orphanage that runs on the donations of wealthy Jews.  There, she becomes a guinea pig for Dr. Mildred Solomon, a radiologist who uses the home's residents for her science experiments.  It's a bleak, terrifying existence for a frightened, lonely girl, the emotional and physical effects of which will haunt her for the rest of her life.

Fast forward 35 years.  It's 1954 and Rachel is a hospice nurse working at the Old Hebrew Home in New York.  She is shocked when she receives a new patient, whose name she recognizes instantly—Dr. Mildred Solomon.  Dying from bone cancer, the woman is as cold and vain as ever.  She doesn't recognize Rachel (once known as Orphan #8), which makes the nurse even more angry with her old nemesis.  Buoyed by thoughts of revenge, Rachel goes through the motions of caring for the elderly woman, all the while entertaining murderous thoughts.  But when it comes to actually ending Dr. Solomon's life, can Rachel do it?  Faced with the ultimate choice—exact revenge or exercise mercy—what will she choose?

Like the heroine of her first novel, Kim van Alkemade has ties to a famous New York City orphanage.  Her grandfather and his two brothers grew up in the Hebrew Orphan Asylum of New York (on which the fictional Hebrew Infant Home and Orphaned Hebrews Home are based).  It was while doing genealogical research on these men that van Alkemade came across the astonishing story of Dr. Elsie Fox, a graduate of Cornell Medical School who performed science experiments on children at the orphanage.  Using this intriguing historical tidbit as a springboard, van Alkemade uses a made-up character to tell the stories of real children (like her grandfather and great uncles) who grew up inside institutions like the Hebrew Orphan Asylum.  The result is an engrossing historical novel that's taut, vivid, and thought-provoking.  As you can imagine, it's also downright depressing.  Even though I empathized with Rachel, I didn't find myself connecting much with her.  So, although the premise of Orphan #8 fascinated me, the story itself disappointed a bit.  All in all, I found the book interesting and memorable, but not knock-my-socks-off amazing.

(Readalikes:  Hm, I can't really think of anything.  Can you?)

Grade:

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With her gleaming mane of auburn hair, her twinkling green eyes, and her charming manners, it's no wonder 19-year-old Amber Sterlington is the Rage of the Season.  Men of the ton—single or otherwise—fall over themselves to win her attention, while the women seethe with jealousy at her ability to command a room with her natural charisma.  Confident in her ability to snag whomever she pleases, Amber is aiming for the bachelor with the highest title and biggest fortune.  She'll step on whomever it takes in order to get what she wants.  

Thomas Richards, the third son of a Northern baron, knows he has no chance with a debutante like Miss Sterlington.  She's not what he's looking for, anyway—someone as glamorous and vain as Amber could never be content as the wife of a gentleman farmer.  And yet, Thomas can't stop thinking about her.  Even though he's seen—all too vividly—how far beneath her notice she considers him to be.

When Amber suffers a shocking, very public abasement, she's knocked off her high society pedestal with a force that leaves her reeling.  Banished by her disgraced family, she's packed off to an isolated cottage in the wilds of Yorkshire.  Humiliated, Amber hides herself away, vowing never to show her face again.  For, who could ever love the hideous creature she's become?

What Amber doesn't know is that there's one man who's never forgotten her, one man who would gladly give her everything she desires ... if only she could find the courage to let him in.

I often dismiss Regency/Proper romances as trite, silly affairs appealing only as entertaining fluff between "real" books.  Maybe that's true (at least for me) in many—even most—cases, but not when it comes to A Heart Revealed by Josi S. Kilpack.  Although the novel's premise sounds as frivolous as any other Regency romance, it's got more going on beneath the surface than you'd think.  True, the topics it explores—the fickleness of the gentry, prejudice between social classes, gender inequality, physical attractiveness vs. inner beauty, etc.—are common to its genre.  That's not what makes A Heart Revealed stand out.  No, it's Kilpack's careful attention to character development and her skill at building realistically imperfect relationships that makes her story special.  Because of this, Amber's evolution from a selfish, spoiled brat to a concerned, capable woman is not just believable, but also touching.  Same goes for her interactions with the people around her.  It's all so authentic that I felt Amber's pains, ached for her sorrows, and longed for her happiness.  Her story kept me thoroughly engrossed, surprising me with its depth.  Honestly, I didn't expect to enjoy A Heart Revealed as much as I did, but I loved it.  It's a clean, complex, tearjerker of a romance—one that spoke straight to my heart.  

(Readalikes:  Reminds me a little of Becoming Bayley by Susan Auten)

Grade:

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When 17-year-old Bayley Albrecht is invited to attend an intensive summer soccer camp at BYU, she couldn't be more thrilled.  Determined to make her dreams of playing for the Y a reality, she heads to Provo with one goal:  impressing the women's soccer coach.  Catching the eye of a hot goalie isn't part of her plan, but Bayley's ecstatic when Matt Macauley proves he's just as interested in her as she is in him.  They promise to write each other during the two years Matt's on his mission.  After that, they'll both be at BYU, studying, playing soccer and, hopefully, falling in love.  Bayley can't imagine anything better.

Then comes a shocking diagnosis, one that rocks Bayley to her core—she has alopecia aereata, a skin disease that causes severe hair loss.  Bayley's never been one of those girls who obsesses over her looks, but now she can't stop worrying.  How long can she hide her condition from her friends?  How will they react when they learn the truth?  Will she be able to play soccer with her usual confidence if she's bald?  And, most of all, will Matt—a guy who makes every girl at BYU swoon—still want her without the hair he thinks is so beautiful?  

As Bayley struggles to come to terms with her alopecia, she'll have to make some agonizing decisions about soccer, about Matt, and about her dreams for the future.  And, in doing so, she'll discover the true meanings of faith, friendship and forever love. 

There's a lot to love about Becoming Bayley, a debut novel by Susan Auten.  For one thing, it deals with a unique subject, a disease I've never heard of, let alone read about before.  And it does it in a way that's both sensitive and believable.  While I initially thought, "What's the big deal?  It's just hair," Auten helped me understand how dealing with alopecia can be a very big deal, especially for a teenage girl.  Then, there's Bayley herself.  I don't see a lot of confident, athletic heroines in modern literature, so it's always refreshing when I do encounter one.  In addition, Becoming Bayley is a clean, uplifting novel, the kind that's appropriate for teenagers, even though it's geared toward a slightly older audience.  All of these things are major plusses in my book.

Now, I wouldn't be me if I didn't have a *few* complaints, right?  So, here goes:  it takes a while for the plot to get going, which makes the story feel a little clumsy and unfocused.  Also, because it covers over two years of time, the novel jumps around, giving too much detail in some places and not enough in others.  My biggest issue, though, is with Bayley.  While I liked her initial confidence, the all-consuming self-pity that plagues her throughout the rest of the story drove me crazy.  I sympathized at first because I thought her "Why me?" rants were realistic, but (and maybe this is totally insensitive of me), they got old.  Fast. Especially since Bayley spends almost the entire novel focusing only on herself and her problems.  As much as I wanted her to step outside herself a little, she never did, which made her seem whiny and self-centered, two qualities I don't appreciate in people, be they real or fictional. 

I know disease novels are notoriously difficult to pull off and, really, I think Auten performed well for a newbie.  While there are definitely things that irritate me about Becoming Bayley, overall it's a nice, heartwarming story about a girl overcoming the hardships in her life.  Her journey toward self-acceptance is both unique and familiar, one that will no doubt speak to every girl who's ever scowled at her reflection in the mirror (and isn't that all of us?).  Even better, the book's got a freshness to it that convinces me Auten is a writer to watch—one of those authors who has the ability to pen LDS novels I actually want to read.  And, coming from me, that's saying an awful lot.                    

(Readalikes:  The sports aspect reminded of the Dairy Queen series [Dairy Queen; Off Season; Front and Center] by Catherine Gilbert Murdock, while the style recalls the novels of Becca Wilhite and Melanie Jacobson)

Grade:  C+

If this were a movie, it would be rated:  PG for very mild sexual innuendo

To the FTC, with love:  I received an e-ARC of Becoming Bayley from the generous Susan Auten.  Thank you!