Ana Lewis is a woman on the verge of collapse.

When her lover Alex leaves her, Ana begins to fall into a spiral of depression that consumes her from the inside out. Avoiding the world around her, she instead cocoons herself inside of her room, ignoring the world outside of her bedrooms four walls. Inside her black box.

However, this means she is ignoring her two children Pip and Davey. They are both held within their own black box, their own seclusion. Without their mother to look after them, Pip must look after herself and her younger brother and find a way for them to survive in a hostile environment.

Ana, inside her black box, knows none of this. Medicated with sleeping pills and painkillers, she begins to meticulously piece her life with Alex back together in order to find out where she went wrong. She tries to piece together the puzzle that is her life in order to find solace. She must confront the demons of her past if she is to understand what she has become.

Pip must also confront her own demons. She suffers increasingly cruel torment from bullies at school. Ridiculed and shunned, she is made the brunt of jokes, of insults of assault. Not like the rest of the children at school, she is on the outside looking in on the life she wished she had.

When the two black boxes collide, the resulting crash will change their lives forever…

My meager plot description does nothing to capture the true story of Caroline Smailes novel Black Boxes. There is no way that I could come close to even capturing a tenth of the emotion, the power of the words or the beauty of the writing. The book is just too good to sum up in a few short paragraphs.

When I opened Black Boxes, I had no idea what to expect. I knew that the novel would be remarkably different than In Search of Adam, Smailes’ first novel. While both novels are incredibly different, both deal with the darker issues of life: pain, suffering, neglect, abuse, sex, death, secrets, suffering and redemption.

Black Boxes is not an easy read; but its impact reaches further because of this. Caroline does not shy away from the difficult and dark issues of life and I wouldn’t want her to. There is such a vibrancy and truth to her words, to Ana and Pip’s story, that the words themselves seem to live off of the page.

The novel itself is split into three parts. Parts one and three are Ana’s black box. Part two is Pip’s black box, her diary. For me, it was Pip’s voice that had the most impact. The torment she suffers at school and at home made me cringe. But it also made me want to keep her safe, to protect her. It made me want to wrap my arms around her and tell her that everything would be alright. The things that Pip goes through are so awful, so incredibly painful that you can’t help but feel your heart go out to her.

I had the same feelings for Ana. I found it difficult to like Ana at the beginning. She seemed like a horrible mother: she neglected her children and let them suffer, choosing instead to isolate herself from the world. But as I read more of her black box, as she told me more of her story, my heart went out to her too.

Though Alex was cruel to her, Ana loves him. Though he mistreated her, hit her, abused her, degraded her, she still loves him. Ana’s love for Alex is all encompassing and, though he never loved her, she loves him completely. It is her love for him that is tearing her apart, Ana’s love for him that is her sole purpose for living. As she recounts her life, reliving her torment at his hands, she still professes her love for him.

As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t hate Ana. Having never known love, having never known kindness, she was broken inside. How can you hate someone who loves someone else so completely but does not have enough love for themselves?

As the story unfolded, as more and more secrets were revealed, I was held spellbound by Caroline Smailes’ words. I was held pinned to the page and couldn’t stop reading. Though I knew that the book would end horrible (indeed, there is no other way for this book to end) I had to keep reading. I kept hoping that Ana would find peace, that Pip would be all right.

Though the story is dark, it is beautifully written. Indeed, what struck me most was Smailes’ use of language. Through out the novel, language plays a pivotal role in the development in the story. From the very first page, when we are given a definition of Context and Black Boxes, you know that this will be no ordinary novel.

Through out Ana’s story, she refers again and again to etymology. Not knowing what etymology was, I had to look it up. The dictionary defines etymology as: The derivation of a word, an account of the history of a particular word or element of a word or the study of historical linguistic change especially as manifested in individual words. You know that words have meaning for Ana, that language holds power for her.

Her daughter Pip also uses language. Pip and Davey communicate through sign language, a silent form of communication. Through out the book there are many words that are spelt out in hand symbols that spell out words in sign language. Don’t know sign language? That’s okay. Smailes has provided the complete sign language alphabet on the endpapers. The use of sign language is a pivotal plot point and gives such depth to the story. Though the words spelt in sign language are silent, they have more meaning because of this.

In the end, Black Boxes is without a doubt one of the most heart wrenching, harrowing, shocking novels I have ever read. It is also one of the most beautiful. The writing pulls you in and never lets you go, even after the last page has been read and the black box is closed. The words continue to haunt you well after the story is finished. More than anything, Black Boxes proves that happiness is indeed a state of mind.

Black Boxes is the best novel I have read all year. I laughed, I cried and I cried some more. And came away a changed person. Though Smailes asks a lot of the reader to read Black Boxes, every page, every word is worth it. I know that I will carry Ana, Pip and Davey with me wherever I go now, that they will haunt me. Black Boxes is one of those novels that, once you read it, you will never be the same.

Like Pandora’s box, once you open Black Boxes, it will be hard to close it once more.

Hey Everyone.

I know that I’ve been super quiet lately. That’s due to a few reason, one of which is that I’m still recovering from the Labyrinthitis. I’ve regained 99% of the feeling in my face, all of my hearing in the left side of my ear. I can read on the iPad again. I can walk without a cane and am back on regular eating habits and meals. My eating tastes have changed and I’ve lost ton of weight. Hey, there has to be something good to come out of it right?

I have gone from a 48 waist to a 32 waist. I figured out the math the other day (this involved stepping on a scale willingly for the first time in five years) and I’ve lost around 100 pounds of weight. I should state that not all of this came from the two weeks I was mostly bed ridden (the stress of my divorce didn’t help, but adopting a low carb diet and eating more healthy foods-and smaller portion sizes-did help. I also cut a LOT of junk food out of my diet. Instead of eating a bag of chips, a bowl of ice cream, dinner, chocolate and a lot of pop in one evening (I kid you not) I’ll have ice cream once a week now. A small bag of chips lasts me a week. And whereas I’d have a whole chocolate bar in one even, I still have chocolate, just not as much of it.

When I stopped weighing myself, I was was 278. A few months later, I had gone from a 36 waist to a 48. I didn’t know how much I weighed. My blood pressure was 180 over 110, I wasn’t happy and decided to do something about it. So I changed my eating habits. I ate more vegetables and salad. I walked more. I drank a lot of water.

I figure that I probably lost 20 pounds or so from having the Labyrinthitis. I went from a 36 waist to a 32 during that time period. Now, that’s a sure thing given I was existing on rice, electrolyte water, saltines, chocolate pudding and tea for two weeks; I couldn’t keep anything else down.

Since then a lot of my time has been focused on getting better. I have much to be thankful for: I can take the bus to work without the use of a cane, I can work a full day at work and am finally getting back up to speed and take things one day at a time. It’s a healing process, I guess. The one thing I’m most thankful for, however, is that I am writing again.

Though nowhere near my full speed. Usually, my writing schedule usually went like this: do edits for three novels, work on current novel, novella, short story and plot next novel, do marketing for novels(s) that are currently out now and, if occurring, finish workshop notes and look at homework. Plus the occasional canvass, book review, book video, blog post. Oh and lets not forget that I actually have a day job, so there is work and a social life and family and loved ones to see (all of which I’m thankful for, too).

When I was able to sit at the computer for long periods of time again, I decided to take the advice that was given to me by Scott Pack a few years back. He had told me to take a breath and work on one thing at one time. I tried to slow down, but there were so many words and they had to come out the way they did. However, as I was healing, there was no way I could go back to my regular pace. So I did something I’d never done.

I finished off a few projects I had on the go, handed in edits, updated my web site so that it was current with all content and gave it a new look. I finished off some poems and promo pieces and picked the one work in progress I was going to work on.

I had never done this before; just picked one thing to work on. It would mean I might not have any releases for a while (though I had a few in the pipeline). It would mean no edits and writing every day-that was one thing I knew it had to involve. I would still allow myself the occasional poem or canvass if inspiration struck with the occasional blog post. I knew the novel would have to be a good one to hold my attention.

I picked one I had started two years ago (I know this because the Sexy Boyfriend and I are close to our two year anniversary and I started it shortly before we started dating. So let’s say two years and a while ago. It was called The Other Side of Oz. I had started it and, knowing the path I intended for the main character to take, put it aside. I knew it would be difficult to write and knew it would be hard work. That’s not to say that any writing is now difficult, just that this one would be more so,

I picked The Other Side of Oz because I knew that it was a story that would be a long one. I had a vague idea of where I wanted the book to go (following the path of the first half of The Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum) but it would be quite a different retelling of the Wizard of Oz that would move between the book and the iconic movie. I knew I had to take a walk on the Yellow Brick Road, I just had to take the next step.

For about a month and a half now, I’ve been writing only The Other Side of Oz and taken those meagre 3, 000 words or so up to nearly 30, 000 words and we’ve got a long way to go yet, but now that I’ve finally gotten Justin to Oz, I’m having a lot of fun. I have a vague idea for a sequel, but I’ll have to see how far into the book I get and how far along the Yellow Brick Road my characters find themselves.

In the meantime, I’ll just keep writing-being thankful I can do so again-one yellow brick at a time.