SURFNETKIDS GROWN-UP FICTION BOOK CLUB Got shopping? Get discounts! Visit Surfnetkids: Coupons, Deals and Bargains for hundreds of discounts from dozens of online stores. This week's book: WHITETHORN WOODS by Maeve Binchy FROM THE BOOK JACKET: Maeve Binchy once again brings us an enchanting book full of the wit, warmth, and wisdom that have made her one of the most beloved and widely read writers at work today. When a new highway threatens to bypass the town of Rossmore and cut through Whitethorn Woods, everyone has a passionate opinion about whether the town will benefit or suffer. But young Father Flynn is most concerned with the fate of St. Ann's Well, which is set at the edge of the woods and slated for destruction. People have been coming to St. Ann's for generations to share their dreams and fears, and to speak their prayers. Some believe it to be a place of true spiritual power, demanding protection; others think it's a mere magnet for superstitions, easily sacrificed. Not knowing which faction to favor, Father Flynn listens to all those caught up in the conflict, and these are the voices we hear in the stories of "Whitethorn Woods"--men and women deciding between the traditions of the past and the promises of the future, ordinary people brought vividly to life by Binchy's generosity and empathy, and in the vivacity and surprise of her storytelling. Maeve Binchy is at the very top of her form in this irresistible tale. *New to the book club? Just click on the Missing Read link below for any emails you may have missed. Go to: (Today's book starts after the "Dear Reader" column.) Dear Reader, Today you can sample Barbara Bretton's book "Just Desserts" and I have 15 copies to give away. Barbara and I have never met in person, yet it feels like we're old friends. She reads along with us every day and is one of the book club's biggest cheerleaders. I teasingly suggested that since I'm featuring her book, she could write a column and give me the day off. After all what are friends for? And by golly that's just what she did. A few words from Barbara Bretton: As I type this I'm a few days away from finishing my latest novel. I don't know what day of the week it is. I'm pretty sure it's still March but I wouldn't bet money on it. My hair is pulled back in a scraggly ponytail. I'm wearing pajama bottoms, one of my husband's old t-shirts, a fifteen year old red sweater, and bunny slippers. (Yes, bunny slippers.) My eyes haven't seen mascara in months. In fact I haven't seen daylight in months. In an attempt to keep temptation at bay I've flipped day for night and am currently living the life of a middle-aged vampire whose highlights seriously need refreshing. Last year I wrote a book about a baker and turned to knitting for relaxation. This year I'm writing about a knitter and I've turned to baking! If I'm not knitting my way through a knotty book problem, I'm baking my way toward a solution. This past Saturday I wrote myself into a corner. Sometimes the strangest things will stop a writer cold. Once I actually had a character trapped on the third step from the top for two weeks because I couldn't come up with the simple words, "She climbed the stairs." Anyway I was stumbling my way around the house Saturday afternoon muttering plot points under my breath when my husband turned the oven on to preheat and said, "Go bake something." So I did. For some reason I have always wanted to make my own bagels. Which is probably crazy since we have three perfectly fine bagel shops within a two-mile radius of our house. I dug out my recipe from the wonderful blog Baking and Books, assembled my ingredients, started a pot of water boiling, plugged in my beloved nineteen year old Kitchen Aid stand mixer, and got to work. By the time I set the dough to rise I could feel the book knots starting to untie themselves. I worked a little on the book while the dough did its thing. I let my mind wander while I punched it down and formed it into circles. One bagel, two bagels, eight bagels, twelve bagels all ready to be dropped into a pot of boiling water, drained, then covered with poppy seeds or sesame seeds or kosher salt or whatever struck my fancy. Pop into a 500 degree oven for sixteen minutes or so (remember to turn them; I forgot one and it got a little scorched) and start gathering compliments. And guess what? By the time my husband and I gobbled up some fresh- from-the-oven bagels with cream cheese, I had figured my way out of the book problem and was back at work again. Some writers go shoe shopping when they hit the wall. Some writers go for a run. Some writers even throw in the towel. Me? I bake. Not great for the waistline but it's wonderful for the imagination! So here I am, maybe seventy-two hours away from typing THE END. In my fictional world I have a knitter in danger, a cop trapped in a cemetery, and magic breaking out all over the place. In my real world, I have an oven preheating and the ingredients for a sour cream coffee cake on the counter. Life is good! Thanks Barbara. To sample "Just Desserts" and to enter the book giveaway, go to: and if you'd like Barbara's Sour Cream Coffee Cake recipe (and the stories that go with it) drop her a note at with RECIPE in the subject header and she'll zip it out to you. Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends. Suzanne Beecher AUTHORBUZZ: New authors, old favorites--all wonderful books worth your time. Win free copies of books you'll be so glad you discovered: Susan Shapiro Barash, "Little White Lies, Deep Dark Secrets: The Truth About Why Women Lie;" Joanna Hershon, "The German Bride;" Debbie Macomber, "Back on Blossom Street;" Lisa Tucker, "Cure for Modern Life;" and Michael W. Sherer, "Island Life." Go to: * * * *Read the Classics: THE OUTSIDERS by S. E. Hinton and enter the free Penguin Classic's Drawing. Go to: Surfing the Net with Kids: Email me: Missing an email? Go to: =====TODAY'S Today We Begin a New Book! WHITETHORN WOODS by Maeve Binchy (fiction) Published by Alfred A. Knopf ISBN: 9780307265784 Copyright (c) 2006 by Maeve Binchy To reference this email: WOODS (Part 1 of 5) THE ROAD, THE WOODS AND THE WELL Father Brian Flynn, the curate at St. Augustine's, Rossmore, hated the Feast Day of St. Ann with a passion that was unusual for a Catholic priest. But then, as far as he knew he was the only priest in the world who had a thriving St. Ann's well in his parish, a holy shrine of dubious origin. A place where parishioners gathered to ask the mother of the Virgin Mary to intercede for them in a variety of issues, mainly matters intimate and personal. Areas where a clodhopping priest wouldn't be able to tread. Like finding them a fiance, or a husband, and then blessing that union with a child. Rome was, as usual, unhelpfully silent about the well. Rome was probably hedging its bets, Father Flynn thought grimly, over there they must be pleased that there was "any" pious practice left in an increasingly secular Ireland and not wishing to discourage it. Yet had not Rome been swift to say that pagan rituals and superstitions had no place in the Body of Faith? It was a puzzlement, as Jimmy, that nice young doctor from Doon village, a few miles out, used to say. He said it was exactly the same in medicine: you never got a ruling when you wanted one, only when you didn't need one at all. There used to be a ceremony on July 26 every year, where people came from far and near to pray and to dress the well with garlands and flowers. Father Flynn was invariably asked to say a few words, and every year he agonized over it. He could not say to these people that it was very near to idolatry to have hundreds of people battling their way toward a chipped statue in the back of a cave beside an old well in the middle of the Whitethorn Woods. From what he had read and studied, St. Ann and her husband, St. Joachim, were shadowy figures, quite possibly confused in stories with Hannah in the Old Testament, who was thought to be forever childless but eventually bore Samuel. Whatever else St. Ann may have done in her lifetime two thousand years ago, she certainly had "not" visited Rossmore in Ireland, found a place in the woods and established a holy well that had never run dry. That much was fairly definite. But try telling it to some of the people in Rossmore and you were in trouble. So he stood there every year, mumbling a decade of the rosary, which couldn't offend anyone, and preaching a little homily about goodwill and tolerance and kindness to neighbors, which fell on mainly deaf ears. Father Flynn often felt he had quite enough worries of his own without having to add St. Ann and her credibility to the list. His mother's health had been an increasing worry to them all, and the day was rapidly approaching when she could no longer live alone. His sister, Judy, had written to say that although Brian might have chosen the single, celibate life, she certainly had not. Everyone at work was either married or gay. Dating services had proved to be full of psychopaths, evening classes were where you met depressive losers; she was going to come to the well near Rossmore and ask St. Ann to get on her case. His brother, Eddie, had left his wife, Kitty, and their four children to find himself. Brian had gone to look for Eddie--who now found himself nicely installed with Naomi, a girl twenty years younger than the abandoned wife--and had got little thanks for his concern. "Just because you're not any kind of a normal man at all, it doesn't mean that the rest of us have to take a vow of celibacy," Eddie had said, laughing into his face. Brian Flynn felt a great weariness. He thought that he "was" in fact a normal man. Of course he had desired women, but he had made a bargain. The rules, at the moment, said if he were to be a priest then there must be no marriage, no children, no good, normal family life. Father Flynn always told himself that this was a rule that would one day change. Not even the Vatican could stand by and watch so many people leave the ministry over a rule that was made by man and not by God. When Jesus was alive all the Apostles were married men, the goalposts were moved much later. And then all the scandals in the Church were surely making the slow- moving conservative cardinals realize that in the twenty-first century some adaptations must be made. People did not automatically respect the Church and churchmen anymore. Far from it. There were hardly any vocations to the priesthood nowadays. Brian Flynn and James O'Connor had been the only two ordinations in the diocese eight years back. And James O'Connor had left the Church because he had been outraged by the way an older, abusive priest had been protected and allowed to escape either treatment or punishment by a cover-up. Brian Flynn was hanging in there, but only just. (continued on Tuesday) =========BUY Use this link to get the best price on this week's book: To locate or purchase OTHER BOOKS use this link: =======SHARE THE You can forward this email to your friends and relatives. Encourage them to join our book clubs. It's a great way to stay in touch even if you live thousands of miles apart. Questions, comments or book suggestions? Contact me, Barbara J. Feldman, at: Inc., 991C Lomas Santa Fe Dr. #415 Solana Beach, CA 92075 You are currently buy onlined to as: To purchase send a blank email to To join any of the free Surfnetkids Book Clubs, visit:

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