# data[].attributes.body
By Peter Swanson

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
The author of the wildly popular The Kind Worth Killing returns with an electrifying and downright Hitchcockian psychological thriller-as tantalizing as the cinema classics Rear Window and Wait Until Dark-involving a young woman caught in a vise of voyeurism, betrayal, manipulation, and murder. The danger isn't all in your head . . .
Growing up, Kate Priddy was always a bit neurotic, experiencing momentary bouts of anxiety that exploded into full blown panic attacks after an ex-boyfriend kidnapped her and nearly ended her life. When Corbin Dell, a distant cousin in Boston, suggests the two temporarily swap apartments, Kate, an art student in London, agrees, hoping that time away in a new place will help her overcome the recent wreckage of her life.

But soon after her arrival at Corbin's grand apartment on Beacon Hill, Kate makes a shocking discovery: his next-door neighbor, a young woman named Audrey Marshall, has been murdered. When the police question her about Corbin, a shaken Kate has few answers, and many questions of her own-curiosity that intensifies when she meets Alan Cherney, a handsome, quiet tenant who lives across the courtyard, in the apartment facing Audrey's. Alan saw Corbin surreptitiously come and go from Audrey's place, yet he's denied knowing her. Then, Kate runs into a tearful man claiming to be the dead woman's old boyfriend, who insists Corbin did the deed the night that he left for London.

When she reaches out to her cousin, he proclaims his innocence and calms her nerves . . . until she comes across disturbing objects hidden in the apartment-and accidently learns that Corbin is not where he says he is. Could Corbin be a killer? And what about Alan? Kate finds herself drawn to this appealing man who seems so sincere, yet she isn't sure. Jetlagged and emotionally unstable, her imagination full of dark images caused by the terror of her past, Kate can barely trust herself . . . So how could she take the chance on a stranger she's just met?

Yet the danger Kate imagines isn't nearly as twisted and deadly as what's about to happen. When her every fear becomes very real.
And much, much closer than she thinks.
Told from multiple points of view, Her Every Fear is a scintillating, edgy novel rich with Peter Swanson's chilling insight into the darkest corners of the human psyche and virtuosic skill for plotting that has propelled him to the highest ranks of suspense, in the tradition of such greats as Gillian Flynn, Paula Hawkins, Patricia Highsmith, and James M. Cain.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.keywords[]
peter swanson; the girl with a clock for a heart; the kind worth killing; her every fear; all the beautiful lies; psychological suspense; suspense; psychological thriller; thriller; mystery; crime; sexy thriller; fiction; twisty mystery; boston; crime novel; suspense novel; psychological mystery; noir; noir mystery; secret agent; agents; spy; spies; espionage; covert operations; mi5; mi6; cia; fbi; james bond; 007; prize; award; long-listed; short-listed; winning; winner; winners; 2016; 2017; 2018

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Amazon.com: Her Every Fear: A Novel (9780062643988): Swanson, Peter: Books

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
* Published by Viking, January 7, 2014
* Selected for Oprah's Book Club 2.0
* A New York Times #1 Bestseller

From the celebrated author of The Secret Life of Bees: a masterpiece of hope, daring, the quest for freedom, and the desire to have a voice in the world.

Hetty "Handful" Grimke, an urban slave in early nineteenth century Charleston, yearns for life beyond the suffocating walls that enclose her within the wealthy Grimke household. The Grimkes' daughter, Sarah, has known from an early age she is meant to do something large in the world, but she is hemmed in by the limits imposed on women.

Sue Monk Kidd's sweeping new novel is set in motion on Sarah's eleventh birthday in 1803, when she is given ownership of ten-year-old Handful, who is to be her waiting maid. We follow their remarkable journeys over the next thirty-five years, as both strive for a life of their own, dramatically shaping each other's destinies and forming a complex relationship marked by guilt, defiance, estrangement, and the uneasy ways of love.

As the stories build to a riveting climax, Handful will endure loss and sorrow, finding courage and a sense of self in the process. Sarah will experience crushed hopes, betrayal, unrequited love, and ostracism before leaving Charleston to find her place alongside her fearless younger sister, Angelina, as one of the early pioneers in the abolition and women's rights movements.

Inspired in part by the historical figure of Sarah Grimke, Kidd goes beyond the record to flesh out the rich interior lives of all of her characters, both real and invented, including Handful's cunning mother, Charlotte, who courts danger in search for something better, and Charlotte's lover, Denmark Vesey, a charismatic free black man who is planning insurrection.

This exquisitely written novel is a triumph of storytelling that looks with unswerving eyes at one of the most devastating wounds in American history, through women whose struggles for liberation, empowerment, and expression will leave no reader unmoved.

Reading Groups

Introduction to The Invention of Wings
About Sue Monk Kidd
A Conversation with Sue Monk Kidd
Discussion Questions
View the reading group guide
Praise

"Here's what makes The Invention of Wings extraordinary: Sue Monk Kidd has written a conversation changer. It is impossible to read this book and not come away thinking differently about our status as women and about all the unsung heroines who played a role in getting us to where we are... A tour de force."
-Oprah Winfrey, O The Oprah Magazine

"The novel is a textured masterpiece, quietly yet powerfully poking our consciences and our consciousness. What does it mean to be a sister, a friend, a woman, an outcast, a slave? How do we use our talents to better ourselves and our world? How do we give voice to our power, or learn to empower our voice?... Kidd, an exquisite and masterful writer, explores these difficult topics and complex ideas and does so unflinchingly - yet somehow leaves us feeling uplifted and hopeful."

"Masterly... The Invention of Wings is a story about empowering women to change the world... With historical bedrock as her foundation for a compelling narrative, Kidd serves up a remarkable novel about finding your voice."
-Chicago Tribune

Excerpt
Hetty Handful Grimké
There was a time in Africa the people could fly. Mauma told me this one night when I was ten years old. She said, "Handful, your granny- mauma saw it for herself. She say they flew over trees and clouds. She say they flew like blackbirds. When we came here, we left that magic behind."

My mauma was shrewd. She didn't get any reading and writing like me. Everything she knew came from living on the scarce side of mercy. She looked at my face, how it flowed with sorrow and doubt, and she said, "You don't believe me? Where you think these shoulder blades of yours come from, girl?"

Those skinny bones stuck out from my back like nubs. She patted them and said, "This all what left of your wings. They nothing but these flat bones now, but one day you gon get 'em back."

I was shrewd like mauma. Even at ten I knew this story about people flying was pure malarkey. We weren't some special people who lost our magic. We were slave people, and we weren't going anywhere. It was later I saw what she meant. We could fly all right, but it wasn't any magic to it.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Published by Viking, January 7, 2014 * Selected for Oprah's Book Club 2.0 * A New York Times #1 Bestseller From the celebrated author of The Secret Life of Bees : a masterpiece of hope, daring, the quest for freedom, and the desire to have a voice in the world.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
A compulsively readable debut novel about marriage, immigration, class, race, and the trapdoors in the American Dream-the unforgettable story of a young Cameroonian couple making a new life in New York just as the Great Recession upends the economy New York Times Bestseller * Winner of the PEN/Faulkner Award * Longlisted for the PEN/Open Book Award * An ALA Notable Book
NAMED ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR BY
NPR * The New York Times Book Review * San Francisco Chronicle * The Guardian * St. Louis Post-Dispatch * Chicago Public Library * BookPage * Refinery29 * Kirkus Reviews

Jende Jonga, a Cameroonian immigrant living in Harlem, has come to the United States to provide a better life for himself, his wife, Neni, and their six-year-old son. In the fall of 2007, Jende can hardly believe his luck when he lands a job as a chauffeur for Clark Edwards, a senior executive at Lehman Brothers. Clark demands punctuality, discretion, and loyalty-and Jende is eager to please. Clark's wife, Cindy, even offers Neni temporary work at the Edwardses' summer home in the Hamptons. With these opportunities, Jende and Neni can at last gain a foothold in America and imagine a brighter future.

However, the world of great power and privilege conceals troubling secrets, and soon Jende and Neni notice cracks in their employers' façades.

When the financial world is rocked by the collapse of Lehman Brothers, the Jongas are desperate to keep Jende's job-even as their marriage threatens to fall apart. As all four lives are dramatically upended, Jende and Neni are forced to make an impossible choice.

Praise for Behold the Dreamers
"A debut novel by a young woman from Cameroon that illuminates the immigrant experience in America with the tenderhearted wisdom so lacking in our political discourse . . . Mbue is a bright and captivating storyteller." -The Washington Post

"A capacious, big-hearted novel." -The New York Times Book Review

"Behold the Dreamers' heart . . . belongs to the struggles and small triumphs of the Jongas, which Mbue traces in clean, quick-moving paragraphs." -Entertainment Weekly

"Mbue's writing is warm and captivating." -People (book of the week)

"[Mbue's] book isn't the first work of fiction to grapple with the global financial crisis of 2007-2008, but it's surely one of the best. . . . It's a novel that depicts a country both blessed and doomed, on top of the world, but always at risk of losing its balance. It is, in other words, quintessentially American." -NPR

"This story is one that needs to be told." -Bust

" Behold the Dreamers challenges us all to consider what it takes to make us genuinely content, and how long is too long to live with our dreams deferred." -O: The Oprah Magazine

"[A] beautiful, empathetic novel." -The Boston Globe

"A witty, compassionate, swiftly paced novel that takes on race, immigration, family and the dangers of capitalist excess." -St. Louis Post-Dispatch

"Mbue [is] a deft, often lyrical observer. . . . [Her] meticulous storytelling announces a writer in command of her gifts." -Minneapolis Star Tribune

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.keywords[]
marriage novel; contemporary fiction; immigrant fiction; the american dream; literary fiction; family life; rich people; money; immigration; class; bankers; upstairs downstairs; privilege; lehman brothers; oprah's book club; oprah book club; pen faulkner award winner; africa; american dream; cameroon; family; immigrants; recession; african american authors; oprahs book club list; book club books; books by black authors; relationship books; international; family relationships; relationships; marriage; drama; white privilege

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Amazon.com: Behold the Dreamers: A Novel (9780525509714): Mbue, Imbolo: Books

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
The Water Dancer (Oprah's Book Club): A Novel

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Amazon.com: The Water Dancer (Oprah's Book Club): A Novel (9780399590597): Coates, Ta-Nehisi: Books

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
The bee collects honey from flowers in such a way as to do the least damage or destruction to them, and he leaves them whole, undamaged and fresh, just as he found them. - St. Francis de Sales
-Ned Bloodworth's Beekeeper's Journal
April 2015 New Orleans Georgia
Memories are a thief. They slip up behind you when you least expect it, their cold hands pressed against your face, suffocating. They blow icy cold air even on the hottest days, and pinch you awake in the middle of the night. My grandfather had once told me that memories were like a faucet you could turn on or off at will, and that after I got to be as old as he was, I'd have figured out how it works. Maybe I just wasn't old enough, because my memories always had a way of getting stuck in the on position, flooding my mind with images and snatches of conversations I'd rather not relive.

Perhaps that explained my obsession with old things, with antique clocks, armoires, and shoes. My fascination with ancient books filled with brittle paper, mismatched china pieces, and metal padlocks with missing keys. It was as if these relics had been left for me to claim as my own, to make up a past that was devoid of my own memories.

Old china was my favorite. It allowed me to live vicariously through somebody else's imagined life, to participate in family meals and celebrations, to pretend to be a part of a bride's place setting selection. Experiences from somebody else's life, but definitely not my own. Despite, or probably because of, my family's well-grounded belief that I was born to founder, I'd discovered a vocation I not only loved, but was actually good at. I was an expert in most things antique, a sought-after consultant, and proof that it's possible to become someone different than the person you'd once been. The person who everybody expected you to still be. If only I could figure out how to turn off the memories, I might have been able to sink comfortably into the new life I'd created from old china and discarded furniture.

I dipped the cotton swab into the cleaning solution and dabbed at the intricate scrollwork of the padlock on my desk. The silver shield-shaped lock with grained bar and diamond embellished trim had been found in a box of old horse tackle in a barn in New Hampshire in an estate sale. Mr. Mandeville, my boss and owner of the Big Easy Auction Gallery had grudgingly let me go. I had a good eye and an even better instinct about these things and after eight years of working for Mr. Mandeville, he'd finally started to agree. I would study the history of a property and its owner when an estate sale was announced so that I could look at pictures of boxes stacked in an old barn or pushed against the walls of a humid attic and know what treasures I'd find.

I wouldn't say that I was particularly happy, or as successful as I'd like to be, but there was nobody in my life to ask me if I were. Nobody to hold up a mirror to make me see who I'd become, or to see the person I'd been who had never really believed she could be anything more than ordinary. My mother had once told me that she didn't know that particular sorrow, the sorrow of being ordinary. But I did. And I relished it if only because it made me not her.

I opened the large bottom drawer of my desk, listening to the clink and slide of dozens of mismatched keys I'd collected over the years, my hope at finding a matching key and lock one of the stupid little games I played with myself. I'd just grabbed a fistful of keys when I heard the front door of the building open, the bell clanging ominously in the empty space. It was Sunday, the offices and gallery below were closed, and nobody was supposed to be there. Which was precisely why I was there, unconcerned about the vintage jeans with frayed bell-bottoms that sat a little too low on the hips, flip-flops, a 1960's tie-dyed tee-shirt, and hair pulled back in a pony tail that made me look about ten years old.

"Georgia?" Mr. Mandeville called up the stairs. The gallery was an old cotton warehouse on Tchoupitoulas, and every word bounced and ricocheted off the brick walls and wood floors, unencumbered by rugs or wall coverings of any sort.

I stood to let him know where I was then froze as I heard another male voice and two sets of footsteps climbing the stairs.

"Georgia?" he called again.

Knowing he'd probably seen my car in the small parking lot behind the building, I sat down behind my desk, hoping to at least hide my flip-flops.

"I'm in my office," I shouted unnecessarily, their footsteps coming to a stop outside my door. "Come in."

Mr. Mandeville opened the door and stepped through, then ushered his companion into my office. The tall ceilings and windows dwarfed most people, including my boss, but not the visitor. He was very tall, maybe six feet four, with thick and wavy strawberry-blond hair. As a person who studied objects of beauty for a living, I decided that's what he was and didn't bother to hide my scrutiny.

He was lean, but broad-shouldered, the bones in his face strong and well-placed, his eyes the color of Wedgewood Jasperware. As they approached, I stood, forgetting what I must look like, and allowed my gaze to rove over the full length of him like I would a Victorian armoire or Hepplewhite chair. I'd started to grin to myself as I realized I must be one of a very small number of women who'd compare a handsome man to a piece of furniture.

He must have caught my grin because the man stopped about five feet from me, a pensive look on his face. It took me a moment to realize that he was studying me with the same examination I'd just given him.

I sat down quickly, chagrinned to know that I wasn't as immune as I believed myself to be.

Mr. Mandeville frowned slightly at me seated behind my desk. I knew he had issues with my insistence on solitude and working long hours. He was a family man who thrived on noise and bustle and the adoration of his employees and extended family. But he'd never had concern over my manners. Until now, apparently.

"Georgia Chambers, please meet a prospective client, James Graf. He's come all the way from New York City to see you. He was so excited to meet you that he made me bring him straight here from the airport." He sent me an accusatory glare as we both understood my lack of a cell phone meant he hadn't been able to give me advance warning.

James tucked a parcel under his left arm to free up his right as he extended his hand toward me. I half-stood, painfully aware of my low-slung jeans. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

His hand was large and swallowed mine in a firm handshake. I slid my fingers from his and sat back in my chair. Turning toward Mr. Mandeville, I asked, "What's this about?"

"James is in the process of settling his grandmother's estate and came across a set of china that he believes might be valuable. He Googled china experts and found your name."

The visitor continued, "But I couldn't find a phone number for you so I reached Mr. Mandeville instead. I offered to email a photo, or speak with you directly, but he explained that you have no office phone or email address and that it was probably best if I brought a few sample pieces for you to look at in person."

He said it without the usual derision I was accustomed to hearing when people learned I had yet to move into the twenty-first century.

"Or cell phone," Mr. Mandeville added as if that weren't already implied.

The man looked at me with assessing eyes and just for a brief moment I thought that he might understand why a person would choose to live surrounded by other people's things.

Then he said, "I couldn't imagine."

He was right, I knew. But I could almost believe that I'd seen something in his eyes that seemed a lot like longing for a world he hadn't even known existed.

"Do you know anything about antique china, Mr. Graf?"

"Not a thing, I'm afraid. And please, call me James."

I nodded, taking in his well-tailored suit and Hermes tie-possibly vintage. He wasn't a Jim or Jimmy, had never been one. He was mid-thirties, but had a youthful air about him that didn't look like a Mr. Graf at all. He looked like a James who sailed a lot and was probably on the rowing team at Dartmouth or Yale or wherever up north he'd gone undergrad. His hair was a little too long for the Wall Street stereotype, but I'd bet my collection of Swiss watch parts that he was part of the fast-paced financial world of constant texts and two cell phones to manage the craziness.

He narrowed his eyes and I realized that I'd been too busy cataloging him to be aware that I'd been staring again. Flustered, I slid the items on my desk to the side then reached for the brown corrugated box. "May I see?"

"Of course." He handed the small square box to me and I placed it in the center of my desk.

I picked up an ivory-handled scissors-from an auction in Louisville, Kentucky-and slit the single layer of packing tape that held the top flaps in place. He'd carried it on the plane, then, not trusting anyone else to its safety. I imagined it must mean something important to him. He'd said it had belonged to his grandmother.

I began sifting Styrofoam peanuts from the box. "Did you eat from this china when visiting your grandmother?" I'm not sure why I asked, why I wanted to know more about the life of the inanimate object I was unwrapping.

"No," he said, almost apologetically. "We never used it. It was kept in a place of honor, in her china cabinet ever since I can remember from when I was a little boy. She'd dust all of the pieces and carefully return them to their spots on the shelves, but we never used it." There was a note of wistfulness in his voice, a hint of loss and longing I wasn't wholly convinced was about his grandmother or her china.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
The bee collects honey from flowers in such a way as to do the least damage or destruction to them, and he leaves them whole, undamaged and fresh, just as he found them. - St. Francis de Sales -Ned Bloodworth's Beekeeper's Journal April 2015 New Orleans Georgia Memories are a thief.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
Malcolm Gladwell is the author of six New York Times bestsellers including Talking to Strangers, David and Goliath, Outliers, Blink, and The Tipping Point. He is the cofounder and president of Pushkin Industries, an audiobook and podcast production company that produces the podcasts Revisionist History; Broken Record, a music interview show; and Solvable, in which Gladwell interviews innovative thinkers with solutions to some of the world's biggest problems.

Discover More

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Malcolm Gladwell is the author of six New York Times bestsellers including Talking to Strangers, David and Goliath, Outliers, Blink, and The Tipping Point.