“I will,” Gerald said.“You’re ‘notebook girl’ now, Sam.”
“Could be worse,” Sam said, clicking her pen.
Beside Claire’s name, Sam wrotepresident—organized.She could tell Claire actually read all her emails and responded right away.
“That’s everyone,” Charlotte said.“Let’s get started.Gerald, maybe handle the dues by email this time?”
Gerald’s mouth tightened, but he nodded.
“Or perhaps someone else could handle it?”Margaret, the professor, said lightly.“You seem to have so much on your plate these days.So many ...projects.”
Gerald’s face went from pale to flushed.“I’ll handle it.
Claire, the club president, took over with the practiced ease of someone used to wrangling strong personalities.“Tonight we’re discussingThe Memory Keeper.It’s a literary mystery about a woman who inherits her grandmother’s bookstore and discovers cryptic notes in the margins of old books.Did everyone finish the book?”
There were nods all around.
“Wonderful.Sam, this group actually reads the books, which makes us unusual.”She smiled.“I’ll start.I absolutelylovedthis book.”
“It was dreadful,” Margaret interrupted.“Predictable women’s fiction tripe masquerading as literature.Maudlin sentimentality, amateur prose, and that tired bookstore-as-metaphor trope.”
An awkward silence fell.
Charlotte laughed, breaking the tension.“Tell us what youreallythink, Margaret.”
“That is all.”The professor sniffed as she took a sip of her drink.Although everyone else seemed to be drinking the tea Charlotte had prepared, Margaret had a coffee mug.Sam had noticed Charlotte had a coffee pot in the other room.She apparently demanded special treatment.
“Okay!”said Claire brightly, casting a worried glance at Sam as if Margaret’s little diatribe might run her off screaming from her first book club meeting.She gave a stressed, tinkling laugh.“Margaret usually takes the dissenting position.As she mentioned, she’s a retired English professor, so she has rather strong opinions.”
“Someone needs to maintain standards,” Margaret said crisply.
Sam glanced around the room.Dylan, the young poet, was glaring at Margaret.Gerald, the treasurer, looked as if he wanted to sink through the floor.Retired librarian Pamela, was studying her book with intense concentration.Sofia, the grad student, had a tight jaw.Only Claire, the club president, seemed unruffled, although her smile had turned fixed.
This was going to be an interesting group.
“This book was just about as awful as last month’s selection,” grouched the professor.
Claire gave her a repressive look.“Now, now.Not everyone felt that way aboutThe Cardiac Protocol.”She smiled at Sam.“It was about a brilliant cardiologist who discovers that patients in her hospital’s cardiac unit are dying.She was trying to learn if they were medical errors, a disturbing random trend, or murder.Of course, it ended up being murder, since it’s a medical thriller, ha.I found this a really riveting read.It reminded me of Michael Crichton.”
The young man, Dylan, looked confused.“It reminded you ofJurassic Park?”
The professor snorted in derision, and Dylan flushed.She said, “Crichton also wrote medical thrillers.”Margaret drank her coffee.“Though the book’s medical accuracy was acceptable.However, the protagonist should have been more careful about drug interactions, as I mentioned at last month’s meeting.One wrong combination with heart medication and that’s it.”She made a slashing motion across her throat.
“Personal experience?”asked Dylan, sounding almost hopeful.
“I’m on three different cardiac medications,” Margaret said matter-of-factly.“You learn what not to mix.”
“Let’s get back to this month’s selection,” said Claire, trying to get the meeting back on track.
Each of the members gave their opinions ofThe Memory Keeper.Everyone except Margaret was quite complimentary of the writing and the story’s plot.
Sam said, “I thought it was a great read.”She opened her copy of the book, which was littered with sticky notes and full of marginalia.“The fact I wrote so much in the margins is a sign I enjoyed it.But for me, there are different ways of enjoying a book.If I’m absorbed in it, for whatever reason, it’s doing its job.Maybe it’s that I just want to make sure that the bad guy gets punished.Maybe there’s a subplot I’m interested in following.Regardless, it’s transportive, isn’t it?It takes us to another realm.”
There were eager nods of heads at this.Even the professor gave a stiff bob of hers in acknowledgment.
Then there was a discussion time where they got more into the nitty-gritty of the book and various storylines.They sipped their tea and listened to the others.Following that, Claire said, “Okay, let’s choose our pick for next month.There were a few books that were bandied around at the last meeting.One of them was that historical romance,A Season in Florence.”
Margaret Brennan was dismissive.“Romance novels are hardly literature.We should challenge ourselves intellectually.”
