Not unlike all previous books written by Fiona Davis, she captures a strength and resolve in women that, in my opinion, is far too often understated.
In all eight books she has had published, there is a New York City historical landmark set as the novels centerpiece. These buildings are usually the start of most discussions regarding Davis’ work, and understandably so. Whether it is The Barbizon, The Dakota, or as in The Stolen Queen, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, they’re major players in our story. When she writes she turns brick and mortar into something that lives and breathes. They are expressive characters that leave us with an indelible experience.
But she does so much more than that.
It’s the women. It’s how she writes them.
Davis writes women of strength and character. They are bright and resolute. They show us their vulnerabilities and not once would they be confused as a weakness. They are, and I say this in the most impressive of ways, capable. Capable of reaching heights they work toward.
In The Stolen Queen, Charlotte is our main protagonist and Annie becomes her assistant. These women, like so many she creates, are what I have just described. Both strong, they show their strengths in their own ways.
Charlotte, with her steadfast and determined nature, overcomes a devastating tragedy at a young age. She remained in her profession, in spite of the heartbreaking misfortune and loss she met with in that world. Her research continued and her passion renewed with a theft of an important artifact.
After her loss she lived her life as she chose to. When you consider she was 19 years old in 1938, that, to me, is further testament to her strengths.
Annie, a young and inexperienced woman who played nursemaid to a perfectly healthy but emotionally defective mother, seeks to find her own path. As she did so, I saw in her a perseverance of someone beyond her years. She knows there’s something out there for her. It’s something big and she is relentless in chasing it down.
I have to admit, I went into this one intimidated. I know nothing of, nor have I had a working interest in, Egyptian history. However, to my delight, Davis deftly and easily made that a nonissue.
Throughout the story I was enveloped in her writing style and couldn’t wait to get the next page. Additionally, she continues to master two timelines and pulls them together seamlessly.
The Stolen Queen continues Davis’ terrific run of historical fiction set in New York City.
This woman could make a grocery list gripping.
The only downside I found was, after I finished it, it will feel like forever until her next one.
Tremendous. Absolutely, positively tremendous. A book where the heart of baseball, and how baseball was the heart of a lovely family, are beautifully intertwined.
I followed up with 
When Game 1 of the playoffs against the Braves saw him throw five wild pitches in one inning, the baseball world witnessed something it does not normally see … especially from such a young kid with an expectedly amazing career on the mound. The guy got the yips and in short, ended his pitching career.
Then, I took a friend’s recommendation of Dirk Hayhurst’s books of life in the minors. I picked up 
Two thirds of the way through it and I will tell you this. Imagine yourself in a bar, throwing back mugs of beer and shots and sitting at a table with Wells. He tells you one baseball story after another not giving a damn who is listening. That is this book. It has its fair share of mundane descriptions of some games, et al. That said, it is hard to read a baseball book without it (although Molina did an exceptional job of that).
Her name is Lillian Boxfish and in the 1930’s she was the highest paid ad-writing female in America. She met someone, fell in love, got married, and got pregnant. Conventional thinking of the times would have you believe that is the proper order of life. It was expected. What was also expected was a woman leaving her job to become a mother regardless of successes, status and/or income. Sure, she continued to write poetry, advertising copy, greeting cards, four line limericks leaving the fifth to be decided by readers and a magazine’s editor. But in the 1930’s and 40’s a woman’s place was in the home raising her children.
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