Haley Huchler

By Haley Huchler

This article was originally published in the Washington Independent Review of Books here.

It’s nearly impossible for me to resist a good campus novel. Any setting that throws together people from different backgrounds and cultures is bound to create the sparks required for interesting literature. In Come & Get It, author Kiley Reid takes full advantage of her college locale to craft a drama fueled by the financial tensions her compelling, complicated characters endure.

Reid’s sophomore effort has been eagerly anticipated since the success of her debut, Such a Fun Age, about a young Black woman entangled in the lives of the wealthy white family she nannies for in Philadelphia. Come & Get It returns to the author’s fascination with issues of race, privilege, and class, this time at the University of Arkansas. The narrative alternates among the perspectives of three women: Millie, a student and resident assistant saving up to buy her own house; Agatha, a writer and visiting professor dealing with a recent breakup; and Kennedy, a transfer student struggling to adjust and make friends.

The story begins with Agatha interviewing three undergrads in Millie’s dorm for a book she’s writing on weddings. After they pepper her with anecdotes about “practice paychecks” from their parents and the “fun money” they earn at their campus jobs, though, Agatha leaves the interview more interested in the girls’ economic backgrounds. She enlists Millie’s help to continue listening in on the lives of these wealthy, out-of-touch students. Soon, both Agatha’s book project and her relationship with Millie get messy.

Abundant references to contemporary books, movies, and brands make the novel feel truly of-the-moment. Reid leaves the reader with no doubt that her story is anchored in a specific time and place. Birkenstocks, “Pitch Perfect 2,” and Victoria’s Secret all appear within the first two pages; Millie’s bookshelf holds Americanah, Sweetbitter, and The Omnivore’s Dilemma; and Kennedy’s homesickness is personified by her weeknight plan to watch “27 Dresses” while her mother simultaneously streams it at home. Such specificity makes the characters feel incredibly real; anyone who’s spent time at a Southern university in the past few years would recognize them instantly.

This plethora of detail falls in line with Reid’s style of writing. You can be sure upon meeting any character that you’ll soon know everything about them, from where they grew up to what they ate for breakfast last Tuesday. These details are particularly important in illustrating the financial tensions at the heart of the story. For example, we learn that much of Agatha’s incompatibility with her former partner stems from their out-of-sync spending habits, and that Millie’s desire to save for a home drives her every decision. In Come & Get It, everything comes back to finances. Unfortunately, it’s not always clear why.

Unexpected plot twists also make this a slightly darker book than readers might initially expect. In the first half of the novel, the stakes aren’t all that high — it feels almost like a character study — but a rapid turn of events shakes things up. While Reid certainly knows how to keep readers hooked, the story’s climax feels oddly disconnected from the book’s earlier acute emphasis on wealth (or lack thereof).

Despite the intense and unwavering focus Reid projects onto each character’s relationship with money, I can’t tell what she wants us to make of it all. Yes, Come & Get It presents a world divided by privilege and class, but it offers no conclusions. Getting to know Millie, Agatha, and Kennedy felt like peering into a zoo and being intrigued by the inhabitants’ understandable, sometimes deplorable behavior. You walk away entertained but unenlightened.

Nonetheless, it’s an enjoyable, easily digestible read with characters who’ll stick with you long after you’ve closed the book. And if you happen to be anywhere near an American college campus, you just may run into them.

The novelist talks siblings, radicalization, and writing in her native Polish.

By Haley Huchler

This article was originally published in Washington Independent Review of Books, here.

Author Danuta Hinc grew up in the suburbs of Wejherowo, a small town near the Baltic Sea, before the fall of the Iron Curtain. Conversations at her family’s dinner table centered on history and politics, making Hinc acutely aware of the world outside her native Poland — one that promised freedom and prosperity.

This deep insight into the way politics shapes our everyday lives may well have influenced Hinc’s new novel, When We Were Twins, a story of Egyptian siblings Taher and Aisha, whose lives diverge when Taher becomes radicalized, abandons their shared plans to study medicine in Europe, and signs on as a medic for the Mujahideen when the Soviet Union invades Afghanistan.

Did you always know you wanted to be a novelist?

Becoming a novelist happened very gradually for me, almost accidentally, when the subject I wanted to write about was too broad for a short story, too political for a non-fictional piece, and too “out of the scope of my own experience.”

Is When We Were Twins a companion to your first novel, To Kill the Other?

When We Were Twins is a phoenix that has risen from the ashes of To Kill the Other, which was published in 2011 and went out of print four years later when the publisher closed its doors. When Plamen Press expressed interest in re-publishing the novel, I seized the opportunity and decided to put out a “new version,” a term coined by my friend Ross Angelella, director of the Jiménez-Porter Writers’ House at the University of Maryland. Apart from rewriting the entire novel from the past tense to the present tense, I deleted many chapters and added new ones. I reimagined the subject and shifted the main focus to different characters, mainly women and children.

What led you to write a book about an Egyptian man who becomes radicalized in his devotion to Islam?

The initial inspiration came from the tragic events of 9/11, when thousands of innocent lives were lost in an unspeakable and unprecedented act of premeditated and synchronized terrorist attacks. I wanted to understand why someone becomes radicalized. I wanted to explore [the question]: Is it possible to see humanity in a person who commits an unspeakable act of terror? It was difficult for me to say yes, and that was my challenge — to construct a character that makes us see his humanity despite his actions. Maybe then we can see the missing link, the moment in life that turns someone into an extremist, a radicalized person.

When We Were Twins was inspired by 9/11, but it is also a story about the Pittsburgh Synagogue shooting, Charleston church shooting, Charlottesville car attack, January 6th U.S. Capitol attack, and any other terrorist attack in history, because each is linked by the same idea, in which one grants herself or himself the right to kill others in the name of extreme ideas based in religion or politics. It’s a story about the vicious cycle in human history that radicalizes people and turns them into terrorists.

What so interested you in the connection between twins that you made Taher and Aisha’s relationship central to the novel?

It was the divergence and the question [of] when and why it happens. I was interested in examining two lives that start in the same womb, heartbeat next to heartbeat, and how they become the polar opposites in their lives despite remaining very close. The bond between Taher and Aisha is mystically profound. They stay very close even when their ideals change and diverge drastically. The twins are also a symbol for all humans as brothers and sisters, all born as innocent and turning out differently despite the innate innocence that is initial in everyone’s life.

You wrote To Kill the Other in Polish and then translated it into English. Was that also your method with When We Were Twins?

When I immigrated to the States in my late 20s, I didn’t speak English. I was fluent in Russian, I spoke decent French and German, and I had a good grasp of Latin. English, however, was a language I had to learn. I fell in love with English while translating To Kill the Other, and at the same time, I started writing in English, kind of bypassing my first language. Graduating from Bennington College with an MFA in literature and writing solidified my process even more, and now I write exclusively in English. I wrote When We Were Twins in English, but strangely, I was thinking about translating it into Polish. Because of time constraints, mostly my full-time job teaching writing at the University of Maryland, I don’t think it will happen for now.

Which writers have had the greatest impact on your work?

It would be difficult if not impossible to name all the writers I read and admire. I admire writers whose mastery of the English language is unparalleled. I believe Freud would say that English is the love I am still striving to conquer and make my own. Perhaps I would agree with this.

[Editor’s note: This article was written with support from the DC Arts Writing Fellowship, a project of the nonprofit Day Eight.]

Haley Huchler is a writer from Virginia. She has written for publications including Northern Virginia Magazine and Prince William Living Magazine. She has a B.A. in English and journalism from James Madison University, where she was editor-in-chief of Iris, an undergraduate literary magazine.

by Haley Huchler

This article was originally published in Washington Independent Review of Books, here.

“Mary Lasker had never looked through a microscope, performed surgery, or spoken from the floor of the Capitol,” writes Judith L. Pearson. “She simply had an unbridled belief in possibility.” Crusade to Heal America: The Remarkable Life of Mary Lasker Pearson illuminates the accomplishments of her subject, a woman who arguably did more than any other individual to improve the health of Americans throughout the 20th century. The main source material for the book is an oral history Lasker gave to Columbia University in 1962, recording it on the condition that it not be made public until after her death. Pearson uses Lasker’s words to great effect in this artfully crafted biography.

The daughter of an Irish immigrant and a Midwestern banker, Mary Woodard grew up in Watertown, Wisconsin. While a student at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, she fell ill with the Spanish flu, one in a long line of childhood illnesses she endured. These early experiences with sickness fueled her lifelong interest in medical research.

After recovering, Mary headed east to pursue her passion for art at Radcliffe College, the only school then offering a major in art history. She soon wound up working at a gallery in New York City. It was there she met her first husband, and together they enjoyed a lavish life of art collecting and international travel until the stock-market crash of 1929 destroyed everything, including their relationship. It was her second marriage, to Albert Lasker, that would spark her crusade into public health. (Although Mary is the heroine of this story, Albert was a devoted and passionate partner in her efforts. His death from colon cancer in 1952 only heightened her dedication to the cause.)

The Laskers were a well-connected pair. Albert, from his sickbed, received hand-painted get-well cards from Henri Matisse and Salvador Dali; Mary attended balls with Britain’s royal family and Winston Churchill on the eve of the Second World War. With their money and connections, they held the world in the palm of their hands. But what they most wanted to do with their considerable resources was improve the health and longevity of fellow Americans.

The couple’s interest in campaigning for a cause formed early in their marriage. The Laskers spent their honeymoon at the Democratic and Republican national conventions, and they later became involved in supporting the Birth Control Federation of America (it was Albert who suggested it be renamed Planned Parenthood). In December 1942, the pair founded the Albert and Mary Lasker Foundation to promote better health through education and research. A decade later, after Albert’s death, Mary persisted in the effort, rallying for more dollars to be spent on heart disease and cancer research each year.

Pearson’s clear and concise writing serves the narrative well. Her attention to detail is stunning, with reconstructed conversations so intimate, you might wonder if she was a fly on the wall at Mary’s meetings with President Eisenhower or lunches with Lady Bird Johnson. While the second half of the book gets mildly bogged down with the minutiae surrounding various bills and partisan debates, it does offer important insight into the difficulties of making large, meaningful changes via public policy. Despite working toward a goal almost everyone supported — fewer deaths from disease — Mary faced immense challenges as she proceeded through the ungreased gears of Congress.

There’s no single resounding moment in the story when she finally achieves all she ever dreamed of. Rather, there’s an accumulation of tiny shifts — which she helped create — that spurred real change. Today, Americans are much more likely to recover from major illnesses like cancer and heart disease than they were 70 years ago. After reading this eye-opening account of Mary Lasker’s life, you’ll know whom they should thank.