Review - The Lost Hours by Karen White

The Lost Hours

by: Karen White

Paperback: 368 pages
Publisher: NAL Trade (April 7, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0451226496
ISBN-13: 978-0451226495
Product Dimensions: 8 x 5.4 x 0.8 inches

The Lost Hours is an emotional journey that takes the reader on an unforgettable trip through a time past and stories with deep secrets left buried behind closed doors. Three best friends, once inseparable, part ways when a tragedy occurs during their youth. Blame is placed within their own hearts, regrets of mistakes and misunderstandings - forgiveness blind, shadowing each in their own darkness.

Piper Mills is a young woman who has been dealt not one, but many tragic blows in her life. Losing her parents as a young child, she is raised by her Grandparents. Their love for her is strong, their guidance turn her into a strong woman, as well as a competitive equestrian. That is until a near fatal fall occurs, scaring Piper away from horses and away from that life that she loved so much.

As Piper turns inward, she discovers that there may have been more to her Grandmother than she ever thought. After the passing of both Grandparents, she is left with their home in Savannah - a home with a mysterious secret room in the attic, torn scrapbook pages kept by her Grandmother and a charm necklace. These discoveries open a vast cauldron of secrets, questions and an untold story of 3 once close and filled with life young women.

The Lost Hours deals with many elements of history and human conflict, from segregation and civil rights to Alzheimer's Disease and blindness. This is a story of the heart and Ms. White delivers a powerful and engrossing tale of family, loss and finding the courage to go on. The characters will become part of the reader, as each emotion is transferred to the reader's heart and soul. The Lost Hours will trigger realization that listening and taking the time with the older generation will lead to a treasure that can be passed on from generation to generation. Slowing down in a fast paced and hectic society, to really listen and learn from others who have true and everlasting lessons to tell, is an important step to preserve our own immortality.

Ms. White has a wonderful and deep talent for bringing a story to life and really delving into human nature. The Lost Hours is a story that is sure to last and be enjoyed for years to come. From the first page to the last, this is a story that will grip the reader and not release its hold for a long time after. The characters, settings and descriptions are vivid and all encompassing, the storytelling beautiful. I simply cannot say enough about The Lost Hours and the extent that I enjoyed it.

I wanted to share a couple of my favorite passages, that I really think show the poetic voice of the author:

pg. 22

"I stood, trying to see the grandmother who'd taught me to garden inside this woman who didn't know who I was. I felt sorry for this old woman, yet I didn't know her. Her presence in my life had become like a soft wind that moves your hair and then is forgotten by your next breath."

pg 54

" There was something else, too, that shimmered in the air here along with the humidity and the foreboding trees at my back. If wasn't neglect, exactly, or even the darkness that seemed to emanate from the oak alley despite the bright summer sun. It had more to do with the absence of light. I didn't believe in ghosts, but I did believe that this house could be haunted by its own past, its sorrows weeping shadows down the sandstone bricks and columns."

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I greatly look forward to reading more works by this author and have added her as a favorite, as well as The Lost Hours as a favorite of 2009. Grab this book, sit back, relax and enjoy a true treasure. Also, do not forget to treasure each moment of your life as well as the lives of those around you - never lose those precious hours - they come and go in the blink of an eye.

*overall rating 5/5

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About The Lost Hours:

The award-winning author of The Memory of Water delivers a gripping tale of family, fate, and forgiveness.

When Piper Mills was twelve, she helped her grandfather bury a box that belonged to her grandmother in the backyard. For twelve years, it remained untouched.

Now a near fatal riding accident has shattered Piper’s dreams of Olympic glory. After her grandfather’s death, she inherits the house and all its secrets, including a key to a room that doesn’t exist—or does it? And after her grandmother is sent away to a nursing home, she remembers the box buried in the backyard. In it are torn pages from a scrapbook, a charm necklace—and a newspaper article from 1939 about the body of an infant found floating in the Savannah River. The necklace’s charms tell the story of three friends during the 1930s— each charm added during the three months each friend had the necklace and recorded her life in the scrapbook. Piper always dismissed her grandmother as not having had a story to tell. And now, too late, Piper finds she might have been wrong.

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Excerpt:

CHAPTER 1

When I was twelve years old, I helped my granddaddy bury a box in the back garden of our Savannah house. I didn't ask him what was in it. The box belonged to my grandmother so I didn't care. Long before the Alzheimer's got her mind, a fear of living had taken hold of her spirit, convincing me that my grandmother had no stories worth listening to.

I squatted by the edge of the shallow hole in the middle of my grandmother's peonies, smelling sweat and summer grass as I dug my fingers into the dark earth and held up my handfuls of dirt briefly before opening my clenched hands, the clods raining shadows onto the box below. The dirt struck the tin with soft patters like little fists against the sealed box, demanding the release of its secrets. I yawned and turned away, the box and whatever it might contain forgotten by the time the screen door of the back porch slammed shut behind me.

I hadn't thought about that hot afternoon for over a decade; a non-event in a busy life filled with friends, parties and my never-ending quest for accolades and excitement in the saddle on the back of a high-jumping horse. I had thought myself indestructible, immune to the fears and disappointments that had stolen the color from my grandmother's face the same way the setting sun creates a world of shadows.

My delusion was understandable to my grandfather who knew the source of it. After all, he was the one who'd told me that being the sole survivor in an accident that took the lives of both my parents meant that God was saving me for something important. I took this to mean that I had already experienced the greatest tragedy of my life and nothing bad would ever happen to me again. My grandmother claimed I was merely tempting the devil. But I was content to exist in my make-believe world where I was infallible until the day came when I was forced to realize how very wrong I'd been. Life is like that, I suppose; always slapping you in the face when you least expect it.

The doorbell rang, erasing the smells of summer grass and damp earth. I rose slowly from my chair in the front parlor, scanning my eyes over the worn furniture with the eyes of a person who hadn't become accustomed to its growing shabbiness for over twenty years. The house still smelled of flowers although the last of the wilted funeral arrangements had been put out at the curb the previous evening with the rest of the garbage. I had hoped that keeping the flowers in the house would help me feel the grief I knew was living somewhere under my skin. I had done enough grieving in my life by the age of six that I guess my body figured I just couldn't do it anymore.

The doorbell rang again and I walked stiffly to the door, my back and right knee protesting every step. Humidity hung over Savannah in the summer like a veil, antagonizing my injuries as much as any cold weather would. I'd long since reached the conclusion that there was no climate that would coddle my bruised bones so I might as well stay in this ancient city and old house that had been in my mother's family for four generations.

I swallowed back my disappointment as I pulled open the door and revealed my granddaddy's lawyer, a man about ten years younger than the grandfather I had just buried. His skin was tinged grey like the color of dried marsh mud and he had down-turned eyes that always seemed to look anxious.

“Mr. Morton,” I said, stepping aside to allow him through the doorway. “This is a nice surprise.” I had hoped it would be one of my old friends from my equestrian days, the friends whose visits had trickled down to a slow drip in the last years. They'd got tired of asking me when I was going to ride again, and stopped visiting as if whatever I'd contracted that kept me on the ground might be contagious. I had no classmates, having been homeschooled for most of my life, and my friendships had centered around the show circuit. A few had made an appearance at the wake, but that was all. Even Jen Bishop, my oldest friend and closest rival, had merely sent a flower arrangement and a note.

Mr. Morton grunted and led the way to the parlor. I indicated for him to sit only a moment after he'd taken his place in my favorite chair, the same chair my grandmother had sat in each evening with her endless knitting.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“Why don't you get me something to drink, dear?”

I paused, wondering if it would be polite to suggest he put in his hearing aid.

“What would you like, Mr. Morton? Tea or lemonade?” I watched as he ran his finger across the dust on the side table, etching out a single line of accusation about my lack of housekeeping skills. “Or maybe arsenic?” I added softly.

He blinked slowly up at me, and for a horrible second I wondered if he'd actually heard me. “A Co-Cola would be nice. It's a hot day.”

I left the room and returned with two glasses of Coke filled two-thirds with ice. I'd only had a partial can and rather than try to go through the motions of explaining this to Mr. Morton, I figured it would be easier to just go with what I had.

“Thank you, Piper,” he said as he took a long sip, then wrinkled his nose before setting it on a coaster.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Morton?” I asked loudly, sitting on the worn sofa next to his chair.

He placed his briefcase on the coffee table in front of him and made a big show of opening and taking out a large manila folder. “I've got some papers for you to sign concerning your grandfather's estate.” He slid the stack in front of me and handed me a thick black pen.

“There're also papers regarding the continuation of your grandmother's care that you'll need to look at and sign.”

I looked up at him, realizing for the first time what my grandfather's death would really mean for me. Along with the deed to the house, all its furnishings and his 1988 Buick LeSabre, I had apparently also inherited the care of the grandmother who no longer recognized my face.

I signed the papers where he indicated and slid them back to him. With meticulous precision, he stacked the papers and placed them in his briefcase. But instead of standing up and taking his leave, he sat back in his chair and took another sip of his watery drink and blinked at me through thick glasses.

“Is there anything else, Mr. Morton? I asked.

He looked at me, not comprehending. Placing his bony hands on his black-clad knees, he said, “There's one more thing, Piper.”

I didn't bother to reply.

“As you know, I've been acquainted with your grandparents since I was an errand boy in my father's law practice. They were good people.” He looked down for a moment as if to compose himself and I wished that I could borrow some of his grief.

He continued. “Annabelle--your grandmother--was a beautiful young woman. Her father was a doctor of some reputation. He treated patients regardless of their social class or the color of their skin--a rarity in those days.” He lowered his head, his bushy eyebrows like avenging hawks in a downward spiral. “And Annabelle was no different. Always putting other first and taking care of people.” His voice softened when he said her name and I glanced up at him, but his eyes didn't give anything away.

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About Karen White:

After playing hooky from school one day in the seventh grade to read Gone With the Wind, I knew I wanted to be a writer—or become Scarlett O'Hara. In spite of these aspirations, I grew up to pursue a degree in business and graduated cum laude with a BS in Management from Tulane University.

I have always been a voracious reader and was encouraged by my teachers to write ever since elementary school. Writing a book was always in the back of my mind, but definitely something I'd "do later when I have time."

One day in 1996 when my children were just babies, I decided it was time and started writing my first book. When I had a few chapters written, I sent it in to a writer's contest and by some miracle it won. The finalist judge was a New York literary agent and she offered to represent me. That first book, In the Shadow of the Moon, was sold and then published in 2000. It was a double finalist in Romance Writers of America's prestigious RITA award.

I have since published eight award-winning novels, and three more books are scheduled: The House on Tradd Street (November 2008) , The Lost Hours (May 2009) and the as-yet untitled sequel to The House on Tradd Street that is scheduled for release in November 2009.
While growing up, I lived in London, England and am a graduate of the American School in London. I currently live in sunny Georgia with my husband and two children. When not writing, I spend my time reading, singing, scrapbooking, carpooling children and avoiding cooking.

I love hearing from readers. Please email me at AuthorKarenWhite@aol.com or write to Karen White, PO Box 623, Roswell, Georgia 30077.

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Please be sure to visit Karen White's website at:

http://www.karen-white.com/index.shtml

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Win Prizes!

THE LOST HOURS VIRTUAL BLOG TOUR '09 will officially begin on April 1 and end on April 30. You can visit Karen's blog stops at www.virtualbooktours.wordpress.com in April to find out more about this talented author!

As a special promotion for all our authors, Pump Up Your Book Promotion is giving away a FREE virtual book tour to a published author or a $50 Amazon gift certificate to those not published who comments on our authors' blog stops. More prizes will be announced as they become available.

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Others on Karen White's tour this month:

S. Krishna's Books

Cafe of Dreams

The Book Faery Reviews

Blogcritics

The Dark Phantom

A Book LoverBooks and Needlepoint

The Book Connection

The Library at the End of the Universe

Confessions of a Bibliophile

Peeking Between the Pages

Introducing Writers! Radio Show (podcast)

Bookfoolery and Babble

The Books I Have Loved

The Tome Traveller's Weblog

Bookluver-Carol's Reviews

Jennifer's Bookshelf

Diary of an Eccentric

Cheryl's Book Nook

The Reviews From Here

In Search of Giants

Lori's Reading Corner

The Friendly Book Nook

Write for a Reader

Dallas Book Diva (podcast)