Bittersweet in the Hollow

Review by Booklist Review

The James women have been purveyors of charms and folk magic for generations, though, by day, they run a respectable diner in their West Virginia town of Cabell Hollow. Linden, 17, is one of four sisters who helps their mom and gran at the Harvest Moon, where baking soothes Linden's lingering anxieties from a traumatic incident the previous summer--if only she could remember what happened in the forest that night. In her well-crafted debut, Pearsall intertwines local lore about "the Moth-Winged Man" with James family history, Linden's inner turmoil, and a string of unexplained disappearances that include a decades-old cold case, Linden's experience the year before, and a murder. The closeness of the James family is lovely to observe, and a thread of romantic tension between Linden and an older boy is expertly teased out. Pearsall's authentic Appalachian setting is almost a character unto itself, and her subtle handling of the story's magic will enthrall fans of A. R. Capetta and Melissa Albert. Thoughtfully blending mystery, thriller, and folk horror, Pearsall proves herself to be an author to watch.

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

An empath is thrust into a supernatural murder mystery in this sensory-rich, genre-bending series opener set in the Appalachian Mountains. Every year, the town of Caball Hollow, W.Va., hosts the Moth Festival, a long-standing tradition celebrating a local cryptid called the Moth-Winged Man. A year ago, during the festival, rising high school senior Linden James disappeared into the nearby woods and resurfaced the next morning with no memories of her experience except for flashes of running through a dark forest and feeling overwhelming terror. On the anniversary of her life-altering vanishing, she discovers her former friend Dahlia dead in the same woods; rumors begin to percolate that not only is Dahlia's murder connected to the Moth-Winged Man, but also to both Linden's disappearance and a decades-old case of a missing child. Determined to find answers, Linden recruits her diner-owning sisters and their special gifts to uncover the truth. Via intimate first-person narration, debut author Pearsall balances paranormal thrills and the horrors of the central mystery to craft a cottage-core-infused world replete with cozy domestic enchantments, a close-knit female cast, and a captivating romance. Characters default to white. Ages 12--up. (Oct.)

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Review by School Library Journal Review

Gr 9 Up--The James women are special; some people in Bittersweet Hollow, WV, even call them witches. The talent of Linden, the third of four sisters, is feeling and tasting people's emotions and the ability to influence people's feelings. The previous summer, she disappeared on Solstice when she and classmates gathered in the woods to call up the Moth-Winged Man, a local folk legend in their parts. She was found suffering from amnesia. A year later, Linden discovers her friend Dahlia's body in the woods and is determined to find her killer. Dahlia's case is tied to a young boy who went missing in the same area almost 20 years ago, and the Moth-Winged Man myth. The teen's investigation leads to her family being vilified, their business vandalized, and her life threatened. Throughout, she struggles with her relationship with Cole, the local golden boy, who seems to shun her since her disappearance. Aided by her three sisters and their supernatural talents, along with their Aunt Sissy's willingness to share family secrets, Linden slowly unravels where folklore meets reality and the sacrifices her family has made. The story flashes back and forth from the present to the night she went missing as she recovers more of her memories. The writing is tense and suspenseful with each new discovery bringing more questions. VERDICT A compelling story as the James women struggle to deal with their own secrets, and in the process, reveal some the darkest ones in town. A first purchase.--Tamara Saarinen

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

Mystery and magic unfold in a West Virginian town surrounded by Appalachian forest. The James women are insular not by choice but because they are feared as well as loved by the small-town denizens who patronize their restaurant by day and purchase their magic by night. Narrator Linden, one of "four sisters born in as many years," can taste other people's emotions; the women in her family each have their own small but potent powers. But no magic can repair the fallout from Linden's disappearance last summer solstice. She went into the woods and tried to summon the local bogeyman called the Moth-Winged Man, only to vanish for a day and be found injured and with no memory of what had occurred. Her father has moved out, her nightmares won't stop, and suspicion trails her, especially when another girl disappears a year later. This multifaceted book successfully manages to be many things: a satisfying paranormal mystery, a family narrative examining the damage of secrets kept and the ways in which silence allows violence to grow, and a paean to the immense Appalachian forest and the small communities nestled between the trees. Luscious prose and a compelling setting make the book hard to put down as the mystery slowly and steadily unfolds over the course of just a few days. Main characters read white. Complex, well-realized, and engrossing. (Fantasy. 12-18) Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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Chapter One Here's what I know for sure: A cast iron skillet must be seasoned with lard. Pickling and preserving are best done during a waning moon. And secrets buried deep never stay that way. I plant myself in front of the box fan wedged into the window and lift the hem of my shirt so the air can move across my skin. The Harvest Moon was once a grist mill, and its thick, old limestone walls help cool the inside. But we serve breakfast and lunch six days a week, and there's no escaping the heat once it really gets cooking. Gran eyes me from the opposite side of the small kitchen where she's prepping food for tomorrow night's festival. She runs the blade of her knife between the ribs of a side of pork she was given for curing the Thompson baby of colic. Breaking through the bone, dismantling it piece by piece, her hands never pause, never falter, even with her gaze on me. She tosses strips of meat into a bowl of spicy marinade, her own secret recipe, and the bones into a roasting pan for broth. Nothing ever wasted. My sisters and I grew up in this kitchen with its stainless steel tables, white walls, and faint scent of bleach. We've been rolling out biscuit dough, scrubbing salt into cast iron, and sneaking spoonfuls of strawberry moonshine jam from the time we could barely see over the counter. So I know what Gran is thinking: Standing here next to the fan could be construed as idleness, something she cannot abide, even if it's only June and already ninety degrees in the shade. A bead of sweat slides down the back of my neck, drawn out by the humidity that's been hunkered down around the base of the mountains for weeks now. I once read that there's a correlation between an increase in temperature and in brutality. That hotter summers are violent ones. I don't know if that's true, but with the way the air sits now, thick and heavy, everyone's temper seems set to boil. At the back of the kitchen, Rowan, my older sister by eleven months, lifts the metal handle of the commercial dishwasher, releasing a cloud of steam that plasters her dark hair against her pretty face. All four of us sisters have long dark hair, bright blue eyes and rosy full lips, but Rowan has the darkest and the bluest and the fullest. Yet she wears her beauty like armor to keep others from getting too close. A rose with sharpened thorns. Her shirt lifts as she reaches up to put some glasses away on a high shelf, just enough to expose a few lines of the black ink that slithers and curls along her hip. It was Mama's discovery of the snake tattoo that relegated Rowan to dish duty this month. And much as I'd like to avoid the dining room, I don't envy her. It's the hottest job in the kitchen. Sorrel, our eldest sister, shoves through the swinging door, a tray piled high with dirty dishes on one shoulder. She rushes past me toward the dishwashing station as Rowan turns, likely unable to hear Sorrel's approach over the rattle of the high-pressure wash cycle. They collide with a clatter, and the entire tray tips backward. Plates and glasses clang against each other, and all I can do is watch, waiting for everything to come crashing down. Yet somehow, at the last possible second, Sorrel manages to right it. She lets out a slow breath of relief just as a single steak knife, teetering on the edge, topples over the side. It lands on its point with a sharp thunk, quivering as it sticks straight up from the floorboards. "Knife fell," Mama warns from her station, pausing in drawing her own serrated blade through the green skin of a tomato. "Trouble's comin'," Gran finishes the old bit of folk wisdom with a glance toward the window. The skies have gone a sickly shade of green as storm clouds gather strength over the mountains. Excerpted from Bittersweet in the Hollow by Kate Pearsall All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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