It's a good read for anybody, but mystery-loving gardeners will revel in it.
When I was a youngster, I played many a game of marbles and held many a marble of different sizes and colors in my hand. But I never experienced what Sam-the central character in Healey's Cave-experiences when, working in his garden, he unearths a small marble.
In the author's words: "The sphere was small and partially opaque. A cat's eye . . . Light sparkled through glass the color of lichen; muted pale green overlaid swirls of deeper green within." Sam looks at it, admires the colors, then without further thought puts it in his pocket and goes into the house for dinner, not knowing how that small piece of glass will change his life.
Sam's life, much like that little bit of glass, is overlaid with different colors, the darkest coming from the disappearance without a trace, a half-century ago, of his younger-by-a-year brother, Billy. Over all the 50 years since Billy disappeared, Sam has been haunted by an unrelenting sense that he, Sam, should have protected his brother.
Lazar weaves an engaging tale around the little piece of jade green glass, which, Sam finds, has an astonishing ability to take him out of his daily life and carry him back in time to his childhood days. His friends of those days are still in his life today in one way or another, and Sam learns during his time-traveling with the marble, that incidents-and people-are not always what they seem.
Almost from the beginning of the story, a reader roots for Sam, hopes for the best for him, urges him on toward a successful search for what happened to Billy. Sam is a nice man, a good man, who, despite his problems-not the least of which is a disabled wife-believes that the world is a good place. And with the help of his magical green marble and his own courage and smarts, he proves that to himself.
One of the outstanding elements of this book is Lazar's vivid descriptions of the landscape, the mountains, forests, lakes in Sam's neck of the woods. He creates Sam as a gardener, a lover of the land and its fruits, who has, among his garden plots and cultivated areas, a "white garden." Naturally, everything in it is white: florabunda roses; double Aglaia daisies, sneezewort, lupines, bleeding hearts, Asiatic lilies and dianthus. As I write this, I can see the garden clearly, smell its fragrance, and if I didn't live in a condo, I'd consider planting one myself.
It's clear to the reader that Sam garners much comfort and solace while working among growing things; any gardener knows this, and the descriptions make for a delightful break in the action, in Sam's life, and in the novel's development as the tension builds and revelations come bit by bit. The conclusion is both surprising and satisfying.
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