3 Stars

    Jane Goldberg awakes to a whisper. Hello. It’s me again.

    She jolts upright, scrambling back toward the headboard of her bed, clutching paisley blue sheets over her body. “Can you please stop doing this?” 

    I just want to talk. 

    A young man perches on the edge of the bed. An amber glow surrounds him, flickering like the wavering flame of a candle. He wears a tattered white shirt, the top few buttons torn off, leaving a pale triangle of his chest exposed, and the sleeves rolled up to reveal two long tattoos, one on each arm, winding down his arms in a swirling, warped pattern. A gash in the front of his shirt is lined with rusted blood. 

    “I already know what you’re gonna say.”

    He crawls across the bed slowly, like an animal preparing to pounce. He clutches the blood stain in a cold, purple fist. Why did you do this to me?

-

The Chicago Tribune        Book Review: The Midnight Garden    ✮✮✮✰✰

    Jane Goldberg’s latest novel showed tremendous promise as one of the most anticipated reads of the year. Following the success of her 2018 bestselling debut, The Raven’s Passage, Goldberg returns with the start of her new trilogy. The Midnight Garden, appealing to young adult fantasy readers, follows Airen Kayne, a young man who falls in line with a crew of vampires in the midst of a civil war. All at once romantic, suspenseful, and compelling, Goldberg avoids cliches, crafts memorable characters, particularly Airen’s feisty love interest Kaya, and creates a story that will surprise readers at every turn. 

    Despite the story’s bravado and Goldberg’s rich style, the novel has one major shortcoming: the ending. Until the final chapter, the book feels carefully planned, an intricate web of scenes. While the end is certainly surprising, Goldberg’s choice feels abrupt, and the entire crescendo of the novel comes crashing down into a flat, confused warble. As I consider The Midnight Garden now, the ending taints the story in an irreparable fashion, and the promise of this book has faded.

-

    Jane Goldberg scrolls through reviews for The Midnight Garden. Not critic reviews; she doesn’t care about those. Not after the Tribune’s, which had set off a string of unpleasant reviews from local papers and larger websites alike. No, Jane Goldberg looks only at fan reviews.

    On Amazon, the book has three stars. On Goodreads, an average of 3.65. 

    Rarely does anyone have a problem with the novel itself, only the ending. 

ASH            ✮✮✰✰✰

You’re telling me I got so invested in this book for THAT ending?! I loved The Raven’s Passage, but this one was just so disappointing. Would not recommend

River Daniels        ✮✮✰✰✰

OMG THE ENDING!! Can’t believe how awful this was

Anna Brown        ✮✰✰✰✰

I hope Jane Goldberg dies for what she did to my heart. Burning this book.

    Why’d you do it, Jane? The young man appears behind Jane as she scrolls, leaning over her shoulder to read along. 

    “You know why. I’ve told you.” She slams her laptop shut and transfers to the kitchen, opening a rickety cabinet door in search of a mug. No mug to be found, all dirty. She pulls one from the packed sink, coffee and rosy lipstick still lining the rim, a bit of tomato sauce from a leftover pan smeared on the bottom. 

    Filling a cup with over-boiled tea, Jane swipes piles of unopened mail and a few pairs of dirty socks across the table, creating a patch of open space for her mug. The young man hovers beside her. You know, looking at reviews doesn’t help.

    “Yeah? You don’t help either.” She flings out a hand, as if to bat him away, but her fingers sweep through air, hitting nothing. “Leave me alone.” 

    They don’t like it. He places his hands on her shoulders, and a chill skitters down her spine. The fans. They don’t like it.

    “I know they don’t.” Jane pinches the bridge of her nose. “Compared to the last book, they hate it.” 

    Five star reviews to three. 

    “I should be on a track upwards, but instead I’m failing. Failing already after one book.” 

    You could have avoided this.

    “I know. You remind me of that constantly.” 

    Why’d you do it? 

    “Because it fit the story I had in mind. You know this.” 

    But look at me. He gestures to the bloody stain on his shirt. Look what you did to me. LOOK!

    Jane pushes herself up, her chair falling over behind her, and throws the mug across the room. It shatters against the wall, tea streaking down off-white walls, falling to the floor in a puddle that consumes a family of ants, holding their legs in place as they attempt to trudge through the sticky pool. Pieces of porcelain stand like walls around them, the rose pattern broken in half.

    “Don’t you think I know this?” Jane holds her head in her hands, words stuck in her ribcage. “I’ve been reading these reviews for a month. A month. I know that I made a mistake.” 

    You didn’t have to do this.

    “I KNOW, Airen. I know. But I can’t fix it now.” 

    You shouldn’t have killed me.

    “I know.” 

    You’re a murderer.

    “I know.”

-

    Jane Goldberg waits backstage inside the University of Chicago’s auditorium. She paces back and forth in a dark corridor, the onstage voice muffled, full of static. She waits until she hears her name, or what she believes to be her name and is assured of by a smattering of polite applause.

    She approaches the podium, looks out at the auditorium, perhaps halfway full. Students, faculty, and community members sit scattered throughout the auditorium, slews of seats separating each small group, a few students alone in the back rows, ducking their heads and scribbling in notebooks. 

    Jane introduces herself, reminds the room of her previous works, the strings of relevance she desperately clings to. She cracks open a copy of The Midnight Garden, reads a passage from the middle in which Airen Kayne first meets Kaya Dune, the activation of a partnership. 

    A pudgy woman, popping pink blush in two bright circles on her cheeks, approaches the podium, leaning over Jane to speak into the microphone. “We’ll open it up now for questions.” 

    Two students, marked as volunteers by turquoise t-shirts, waddle around the auditorium, bringing microphones to people with hands up.

    At first, people ask typical questions. What inspired the book, how she copes with writer’s block, what upcoming projects she has planned. Jane hears her answers come out in a clunky, robotic tone.

    A girl in the front row stands up, microphone in one hand, a tattered copy of The Midnight Garden in the other, crinkled spine and dog-eared pages. “First of all, I just want to say thank you so much for being here. You’re one of my favorite authors, and I’m so glad to be able to actually speak to you.” 

    The girl’s kind words ease the shaking in Jane Goldberg’s hands. “Thank you very much. I’m happy to be here.” 

    “I wanted to ask you… both of your novels have such detailed characters. What techniques do you use to paint such vivid characters? Do they have any real-life inspiration?” 

    “Well, thank you. But no, actually. They’re not based on anyone I know. But… I like to think that they are real. As if I do know them.” She pauses, takes a sip from a crinkled water bottle. “I like to talk to them. When I’m writing. Pretend they’re with me, and I can ask them things about themselves, where they think their story should go.” 

    A hand shoots up a few rows back. An angry, insistent hand. The microphone makes its way to her. The girl stands up, pushes her glasses up her nose. “I’m sorry if this spoils the book for anyone, but I have to ask…” Her voice is strong, confident. “Why did you kill off Airen?” 

Jane knew the question would come, but she freezes nonetheless. 

“I was such a fan of this book until the end. It seemed as if the whole point of the book was to establish Airen’s importance as a character. If I’m being honest, and I don’t necessarily mean to be rude, but it seemed lazy and useless to kill him at the end. Especially if this is meant to be a trilogy - how is it to continue without everyone’s favorite character?” 

“Well…” Jane wrings her hands, grinds her teeth, contemplates all the times she’s been asked this same question at readings, in reviews, by text messages from upset friends and family. 

A chill brushes by her, and when she glances to her right, Airen stands offstage, clutching his heart. The stain on his chest grows more vibrant as fresh blood begins to pour out. You did this. He clutches his heart, falls to his knees. You did this. The floor is soaked, deep red coating his pants, then his shirt, then his cheek as he collapses. You’re a murderer. 

Jane tries to push away the pounding in her head, the force of a knife driving into her chest. Her hands, seeking something to crush, find the book, worn from past readings. She takes one third of the book in her grip and begins to pull, the pages hesitating before ripping away, tiny slivers of paper falling to the ground. She breaks the other piece of the book in two, then starts digging into the spare pages, frantic. The edges cut her fingers, droplets of blood smearing onto the pages as she throws them in the air, laughing as they fall to the ground. 

Jane Goldberg takes one last look at the audience, settled into a stunned silence, leaving only the clomp of her high heels as she walks offstage.