Dad singing his heart out in the 1930s.

Dad was still performing when he met my mother in the Catskills. Only the responsibility of marriage and family could make him take a hiatus from acting in exchange for more predictable employment. Still, my childhood memories are filled with him accompanying himself (and me) on the piano while singing standards from both the 20th-century-popular-music songbook and Broadway.

This explains why I’m a bit of a Broadway geek. It also explains why I loved Kristina Riggle’s newest book, Vivian in Red (Polis Books).

Vivian tells the story of octogenarian Milo Short, a Broadway producer and famous lyricist who, on his way to the office one day, encounters a woman he hasn’t seen in over sixty years. As if that weren’t impossible enough, Vivian is as young and beautiful as she was when he last saw her in the 1930s. The sight shocks Milo into a stroke, leaving him unable to communicate the flurry of thoughts that now race through his still-active mind. Vivian, you see, has arrived on a mission, and Milo suspects he knows what it is. It will take his granddaughter, Eleanor, to dig through his theatrical past to uncover the truth that can potentially set him free.

Of course, the theater part of this novel is a lot of fun. Ms. Riggle brings not only the research skills of the journalist she is, but a love of the stage fueled by her own past experiences in community theater productions. The reader follows Milo’s career from song-plugger on Tin Pan Alley through Broadway lyricist to successful producer. We are flies on the wall for the mounting of a 1930s musical (Ms. Riggle’s lyrics for Milo’s songs fit perfectly into the era), and once we sweat through the production/rehearsal process, we’re invited to opening night. We even get to mingle with celebrities like Cole Porter, Jimmy McHugh, and Dorothy Fields. But you don’t need an interest in theater or history to enjoy Vivian in Red. This is Ms. Riggle’s sixth novel, and she brings to it the same understanding of human frailty and strength that infuses all her work.  If you’ve ever had a dream or a relationship, you’ll recognize Vivian‘s  heart. You might even find yourself in the mix as well.

Milo’s rise from a poor Jewish family to Broadway success echoes the trajectory of a long list of great early-20th-century lyricists and composers (Irving Berlin, George and Ira Gershwin, and Yip Harburg to name but a few). My father’s story resonates against this; with so many Jews succeeding in show business, why wouldn’t theatrical success seem within the reach of both a young Jewish boy from Brooklyn and his immigrant mother? It was their version of the American Dream, and my father never quite left it behind.

Dad was back onstage before I left my teens, performing in Annapolis, Washington, and Baltimore. He did print ads and commercials, appeared in movies and on TV. He performed his last role between rounds of chemo; as far as he was concerned, missing a show was not an option.

Even now, over a decade past my father’s last performance, people still tell me how much they enjoyed watching him onstage. I remember the stories he told with the comic timing of a master. Sure, maybe we’d heard some of those stories before, but who cared? With Dad, there was always the chance for something more entertaining than mere conversation.

Milo Short reminds me of him, and I am grateful for the visit.

Although I love to read, I have never been the reader my mom was. Even now, my days are so full that reading is relegated to evenings. Lately, though, that evening reading has begun earlier and earlier, and I’ve been fortunate enough to bury myself in some great books this summer. I’ve enjoyed each one.

This was the summer I discovered Simone St. James, and I gobbled up The Other Side of Midnight in June. The post-war texture of 1920s England combined with the supernatural and deft writing was right up my alley. I would have poured myself directly into St. James’s The Haunting of Maddy Clare, except that this would have required prying the book from my husband’s hands. I had to wait several weeks for that one (and listen to my husband’s “Hurry. Read it. I want to discuss.”), but it was worth it.

While I waited I finished up a nonfiction book I’d begun in spring: Past Imperfect: History According to the Movies. This one was edited by Mark C. Carnes and discussed the factual differences between historical events and how they’ve been portrayed in the movies. (Every once in a while I like to wear my geek hat.)

Next came Beatriz Williams’s newest, Tiny Little Thing. I love getting lost in this author’s big, tasty stories, and this one did not disappoint. It was a great summer read that kept me up way too late each night, but isn’t that what July is for?

I took a break from fiction next and enjoyed Modern Romance, by Aziz Ansari. It managed to be both humorous and true, and I still haven’t figured out whether it’s a snapshot or an indictment.

After this I breezed through Hope Out Loud, Kristina Riggle’s novella sequel to her novel The Life You’ve Imagined. A reader doesn’t always get to see “what happens next,” and the shorter length was the perfect accompaniment to a glass of wine on a hot summer evening. What fun!

Jami Attenberg’s Saint Mazie made me want to find a book club. Any book club. Pronto. There’s so much to discuss here, and it’s all so intriguing.

The best part is that there are still books waiting on my nightstand. I am currently reading Eliza Graham’s The One I Was. Next up will be Jami Attenberg’s The Middlesteins, followed by The Other Daughter (Lauren Willig) and (if I can grab it from my husband, of course) Silence for the Dead (Simone St. James).

Lots of great reading ahead of me. I wish the same for you.

Yum!