Judith Collington lived in Hollywood and made excellent money as a personal shopper to the stars. For the casual observer, her life might be the stuff that dreams are made of, but Judith was itching to get herself and her pre-teen daughter away from all the glitz and phoniness of the entertainment trade. She longed for a job that would allow her time to connect personally with daughter, Shannon, before the latter’s souring attitude went permanently south.

A Northanger Abbey Cliff’s Notes version might have helped me understand the intricacies of the ending, which came tumbling at me so fast I scarcely knew what hit me. No ending has taken me as much by surprise since I read Georgette Heyer’s The Black Moth. This is not to say that I didn’t enjoy my first venture into Jane Austen. However, it got me wondering how a laundry bill could become such a pivotal symbol in the progress of the story and wishing I had paid more attention at its discovery. My real issue with the ending was that I understood on some level what happened, but the dénouement was not spelled out for me as I expected it to be. This is not so much a fault of Jane Austen as it is of my inexperience in reading Jane Austen.

Hot flashes, a 25-year marriage, unfulfilled career ambitions, a restless retirement, a large stash of amber liquid hidden in the basement, and a husband whose life work involves garbage collection all set the scene for an unlikely romance. However, Eva Pasco has managed to weave all these elements into an amusing story line that wanders here and there at a steady clip—a story line as enticing and unpredictable as the heroine, Carla Matteo.

First published in 1918, The Return of the Soldier is the First World War I novel written by a woman. It might also be the first novel that explores the psychological aspect of the casualties of war. The story centers on a British officer who returns home from the front physically sound but suffering from amnesia brought on by shell shock. His memory loss wipes out the past 15 years of his life during which he married a society beauty, Kitty, and had a son who died in infancy. The story asks more questions than it answers, but the reader can infer what happens and whether the ending is indeed the best possible scenario.

Although she has sometimes been referred to as a clairvoyant, author Janice Tarver prefers to describe her abilities as those of a medium. Her gifted abilities are derived from her Christian heritage for she is neither a fortune teller nor a card or chart interpreter. The Happy Medium centers upon Janice’s interactions with clients, the clients themselves having submitted many of the experiences described in the book. Janice has a gift, albeit one she has not always been comfortable possessing, much less using. Her journey through acceptance and actualization of that gift comprises another facet of the story.

Some books offer the reader a roller coaster ride, with ups and down, twists and turns and not a few panics. Some books offer a game of hide-and-seek, constantly changing the rules just when you think you have figured out the plot’s trajectory. Some books, and indeed the most enjoyable, offer a comfortable predictability, where you can guess the ending, perhaps from the first sentence, but hold your interest by taking you on a n enjoyable journey from here to there. Margaret’s Rematch belongs to the third type of novel, serving up a healthy dose of conflict, but allowing the story to meander gently and pleasantly toward its goal.

Lady James wrote this thoughtful and informative book at the request of the librarian of Oxford’s Bodelian Library. Talking about Detective Fiction introduces us to the works of Conan Doyle and Wilkie Collins along with Agatha Christie, Marjorie Allingham, Ngaio Marsh and, my favorite, Dorothy Sayers. She offers in detail some of the major contributions each writer has made to the genre of detective fiction. Moving on, she covers the contributions of some of Detective fiction’s seminal American writers, such as Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammet who gave us the hardboiled detectives Philip Marlowe and Sam Spade.

When Elizabeth von Arnim (AKA Alice Cholomondeley) published Christine in 1917, an outcry ensued, complainants claiming that the book was loaded with anti-German propaganda. If Von Arnim felt chastened by the perceived slight, she apparently set out to make amends when she wrote Christopher and Columbus. This book was published in 1919, two years after the publication of Christine. The story may also exhibit the yearning the author felt for her daughter, born of English mother and German father, who died in Germany as a teenager. Could she have been salving her grief by recreating that daughter times two?