Susan Scribner

As an aging Baby Boomer, I'm impressed that Betsy Lerner, a well-regarded literary agent and editor, has written her first novel at age 64. I'm less impressed by the novel itself. There's nothing particularly wrong with it, but there is little to distinguish Shred Sisters from the hundreds of other stories that explore the dynamics between two sisters (subset: one of them has a serious mental illness). And despite reviews that describe the book as both funny and poignant, I couldn't find the alleged humor. YMMV if you need to read all of the books to remind yourself that “nobody will love you or hurt you more than a sister.”

I already knew a lot of the dirt that journalist Liz Pelly dishes about music streaming giant Spotify in this book. To wit: most musicians are paid almost nothing when their songs are streamed, and in fact they have to agree to reduced royalties if they want their music to be promoted. The app harvests tons of data about its consumers, which is then sold and used to target ads as well as for other, more nefarious purposes. Some of the music on Spotify isn't even real - it's computer generated to mimic successful songs or match a given mood.

Honestly, what really shook me was realizing that Spotify has taken something special that people actively seek out, and turned it into a series of algorithmically-determined playlists so users can engage in passive “lean-back listening,” letting Spotify soundtrack their everyday moments (every night too - sleep playlists are very popular). Instead of Apple Music or Amazon, Spotify sees its competition as something much broader: silence. Any minute you are not listening eats away at the company's $1.5 billion profit.

Mood Machine is well-written and researched, if just a tiny bit dry. It could have used a few more interviews with musicians whose careers have been affected by Spotify, although I imagine the fear of reprisal might have kept them off the record. Pelly's solutions are similar to those of any group suffering under late-stage capitalism: artist collectives, community organizing and unionizing, even local libraries. You know, all of the things that are looking more and more like pipe dreams in 2025.

3.5 stars. This is not another one of those cutesy books set in a cozy bookshop in which a) the heroine, who inherited the store from her great aunt, tries to save it from financial ruin; or b) the grumpy owner is charmed by a beautiful, and mysterious customer; or c) the store is staffed by an assortment of lovable oddballs. In fact, while a bookstore brings the three MCs together for the first time, it is reading itself, wherever it takes place, that is explored -specifically how reading fosters empathy by requiring us to think of characters in our books as “fellow creatures.”

Our three MCs are Harriet, a retired teacher who runs a weekly book club at the nearby women's prison; Violet, convicted of vehicular manslaughter at age 19 but recently released from prison; and Frank, the bookstore handyman who is ashamed of having conflicting emotions about his wife's tragic death. Violet is the pivotal character, as she struggles to determine if the bad decisions she made as an immature teenager render her soul unredeemable and her future hopeless. Her mother died of cancer while Violet was incarcerated, and Violet's sister holds her responsible for that death as well. The sister does set Violet up in an apartment in Portland, but she makes it clear that Violet is no longer welcome in their small Maine hometown. Through the kindness of strangers and her own inner drive, Violet makes a new life for herself, although she continues to make some ill-advised choices. But she owns her mistakes (eventually) and I rooted for her in all of her messiness.

Monica Wood has a distinctive voice, unsentimental but not unkind. I wasn't pleased with several of her plotting decisions, but that just means the book wasn't always predictable. Perhaps because Wood is an older adult, she shows the most unfettered affection towards Harriet and Frank. The millennials (with the exception of Violet) are mostly self-absorbed, privileged, and insufferable. OK Boomer!

You had me at “Jewish, trans undertaker sees dead people, including the ghost of his new boyfriend's late husband.”

Okay, to be accurate, Ezra Friedman is only filling in temporarily as the office manager for the Friedman Memorial Chapel; it's more than a little awkward for his mother to keep working there after she drops a bombshell at the family Passover seder that she and the rabbi's wife are in love and both leaving their husbands. Ezra has avoided his family's funeral home since he started seeing ghosts at a young age, starting with his beloved grandfather. Now he needs to be there daily, which gives him numerous opportunities to see his crush Jonathan, a Chapel volunteer who is still grieving the loss of his beloved husband, Ben. Ezra suspects that Ben hasn't let go yet either—because Ezra can see his ghost. And unlike the other specters, Ben can talk, and he has a lot to say.

Shelly Jay Shore does a lot of things well in her debut novel, including explaining traditional Jewish funeral rituals and posing questions around how trans individuals are welcomed into the gender-segregated ones such as taharah (ritual cleansing and dressing of the body). Ezra is a troubled but sympathetic character whose role as the family's emotional caretaker is starting to take its toll. The love story is a tad underdeveloped but it improves as the story progresses. The book's overall tone is serious but not melodramatic, with flashes of wry humor sprinkled throughout. I was afraid that the plot had the potential to succumb to farce, similar to the 1945 movie Blithe Spirit, but thankfully no hijinks ensue.

On the minus side, the novel's 400 pages are overly stuffed with subplots. Ezra moves into a house whose residents include his asexual/demisexual former boyfriend. The other housemates, mostly queer, become his found family. The funeral home faces financial issues and looming threats of corporate buyout. Ezra and his siblings struggle to reconcile their anger at their mother with their respect for her authentic queer truth. Jonathan has secrets about his marriage, and Ezra has secrets about the literal ghost in their new relationship. And there's a cute, slobbering pit bull mix named Sappho.

So depending on what you are hoping to find in the book – Family saga? Queer love story? Jewish fiction? – you may be disappointed, but you will not be bored. I give the author credit for penning such a distinct debut. Maybe next time she be more parsimonious with her ideas, and not try to cram them all into one story.

ARC received from Net Galley in exchange for objective review.

Eye-opening look at the whitewashed Civil Rights history we have been given. Occasionally repetitive but informative and important.