Girl With The Gun

NATIONAL BESTSELLER. The first in the Kopps Sisters Novel Series, Girl Waits with Gun is an enthralling novel based on the forgotten true story of one of the nation’s first female deputy sheriffs. Constance Kopp doesn’t quite fit the mold. She towers over most men, has no interest in marriage or domestic affairs, and has been isolated from the world since a family secret sent her and her sisters into hiding fifteen years ago. One day a belligerent and powerful silk factory owner runs down their buggy, and a dispute over damages turns into a war of bricks, bullets, and threats as he unleashes his gang on their family farm. When the sheriff enlists her help in convicting the men, Constance is forced to confront her past and defend her family — and she does it in a way that few women of 1914 would have dared. A New York Times Editors' Choice “A smart, romping adventure, featuring some of the most memorable and powerful female characters I've seen in print for a long time. I loved every page as I followed the Kopp sisters through a too-good-to-be-true (but mostly true!) tale of violence, courage, stubbornness, and resourcefulness.”—Elizabeth Gilbert

Fifteen-year-old Annie Oakley is the sole supporter of her widowed mother and two siblings. An expert markswoman and independent spirit, she hunts game to sell to the local mercantile to make ends meet instead of accepting a marriage proposal that could solve all her problems. After a stunning performance in a shooting contest against the handsome and famous sharpshooter Frank Butler, Annie is offered a position in the renowned Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show. Finally, she has a chance to save the nearly foreclosed family farm and make her dreams come true. But then her Indian assistant is found dead in her tent, and Annie is dubious when the local coroner claims the death was due to natural causes. When another innocent is murdered, Annie begins to fear the deaths are related to her. And to make matters worse, her prized horse, Buck, a major part of her act, is stolen. Annie soon discovers that the solution to her problems lies buried in a padlocked Civil War trunk belonging to the show’s manager, Derence LeFleur. And so, with the help of a sassy, blue-blooded reporter, Annie sets out to find her horse, solve the murders, and clear her name.

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Diana Nammi became a fighter with the Peshmerga when she was only seventeen. Originally known as Galavezh, she grew up in the Kurdish region of Iran in the 1960s and 70s. She became involved in politics as a teenager and, like many students, played a part in the Iranian Revolution of 1979. But the new Islamic regime tolerated no opposition, and after Kurdistan was brutally attacked, Galavezh found that she had no choice but to become a soldier in the famed military force. She spent twelve years on the front line, and helped lead the struggle for women’s rights and equality for the Kurdish people, becoming one of the Iranian regime’s most wanted in the process. As well as being the startling account of Galavezh's time as a fighter, Girl with a Gun is also a narrative about family and resilience, with a tragic love story at its heart.

ONE OF CBC'S BEST CANADIAN FICTION BOOKS OF 2022 A suspenseful and poignant tale from an award-winning writer about a girl navigating chaotic family life in a close-knit small town. On a June afternoon in a small city, a wild-eyed girl named Francie dashes down a neighbourhood street, clutching a gun. She doesn’t know exactly what she’s running from, and she doesn’t know what she’s heading towards. All she understands is the need to survive. To save herself, she has no choice but to run—and to save those she loves, she must hold tight to that gun. Swirling around Francie is a chorus of friends, family, and neighbours, each person with a different view of her. As we hear from these voices—Francie’s steadfast best friend, Alice; Alice’s comically unaware mother, Sally, and struggling mathematician father, David; Francie’s distressed and distracted mother, Marietta, and troubled, unwell father, Luce—a fractured portrait emerges of the girl and the village surrounding her. And at last we arrive at a still point in the chaos: a tall tree where Francie takes shelter, and where the meaning of her flight—for herself, and for the people around her—becomes clear. In Francie’s Got a Gun, award-winning writer Carrie Snyder assembles a chorus of unforgettable characters who are both well-intentioned and flawed. At their centre is Francie, a vulnerable, imaginative girl with surprising attachments to each of them. Here is a propulsive, polyphonic, heart-expanding novel—equal parts sorrow and humour, fear and love, anger and kindness—about social breakdown and the quest for connection in a close-knit community.

A mysterious suicide and double murder are at the heart of this powerful thriller set in Northern Ireland amidst the Troubles, from the New York Times bestselling and Edgar Award–winning author Adrian McKinty “McKinty is in full command of language, plot, and setting in a terrifying period of history...” —Library Journal (starred review) Belfast, 1985. Amid the Troubles, Detective Sean Duffy, a Catholic cop in the Protestant Royal Ulster Constabulary, struggles with burnout as he investigates a brutal double murder and suicide. Did Michael Kelly really shoot his parents at point-blank and then jump off a nearby cliff? A suicide note points to this conclusion, but Duffy suspects even more sinister circumstances. He soon discovers that Kelly was present at a decadent Oxford party where a cabinet minister's daughter died of a heroin overdose, which may or may not have something to do with Kelly's subsequent death. New evidence leads elsewhere: gun runners, arms dealers, the British government, and a rogue American agent with a fake identity. Duffy thinks he's getting somewhere when agents from MI5 show up at his doorstep and try to recruit him, thus taking him off the investigation. Duffy is in it up to his neck, doggedly pursuing a case that may finally prove his undoing.

The two-time Newbery medalist has crafted “a loving representation of a relationship between parent and child” in post-WWII America (Publishers Weekly, starred review). This is the story of young Liz, her father, and their strained relationship. Dad has been away at WWII for longer than she can remember, and they begin their journey of reconnection through a hunting shirt, cherry pie, tender conversation, and the crow call. This allegorical story shows how, like the birds gathering above, the relationship between the girl and her father is graced with the chance to fly. “The memory of a treasured day spent with a special person will resonate with readers everywhere.” —School Library Journal (starred review) “Beautifully written, the piece reads much like a traditional short story . . . the details of [Ibatoulline’s] renderings gracefully capture a moment in time that was lost. Relevant for families whose parents are returning from war, the text is also ripe for classroom discussion and for advanced readers.” —Kirkus Reviews

Letting go is an art. And I am not an artist. I'm a killer. Suds slipped down my body and gathered at my ankles before traveling in a flotilla to the drain. The white, iridescent bubbles jiggled as droplets of water crashed around them. They popped one by one, the mass sinking into the pipe as each bubble lost tension and let go. I don’t kill for pleasure, though there is some. Lady Justice is tantamount to my god. I serve her single-mindedly, but there is no blindfold. I am prejudiced, human...so human. Would the world be safer with me under lock and key? One less terrorist wreaking havoc. Or more dangerous? One less soldier fighting for justice. Blue barked. I looked through the fogged glass seeing nothing but gray shapes in the mist. He barked again and I turned the water off and opened the shower door, a cloud of steam coming with me into the room. Another bark, a "hello,” a "there is someone here," a "someone we trust" bark. Grabbing a towel I left the bathroom; making wet prints on the carpeting as I padded into the living room. Blue sat by the door, his large tail swishing back and forth. He barked again, turning to look at me, his mismatched eyes bright with excitement. He pushed his large head against my hip, urging me toward the door with a soft whine. Mulberry stood in the hallway, his broad shoulders taking up the width of the doorway. He wore a subdued yellow and green plaid shirt that brought out the same colors in his eyes. Silver and black stubble covered his jaw. Blue pushed past me and wriggled his body against Mulberry's legs. The former New York detective broke his gaze from mine and looked down at my dog. He ruffled Blue's head. "Hey, boy." "I wasn't expecting you." Mulberry looked up at me, his hand still on Blue. "That's the first thing you say?" "Hi." He smiled and gave off a little laugh. "I figured I'd stop by and see you. We left things a little …" "I thought I was pretty clear." "I'm not sure it's up to you to decide." "I'm not sure about having this conversation in a towel." Mulberry raised an eyebrow. "I don't think you need it." "Come in; I'll get dressed." He followed me into the living room, clicking the door into place. I dressed in a pair of dark indigo jeans and a white T-shirt, one of the few without any stains. Blue's tail wagged and his tongue lolled. "Don't look so excited,” I told Blue before returning to the living room. Mulberry waited on the couch. "You want a drink?" "Sure." I crossed to the kitchenette and grabbed us each a sparkling water; cracking one open, it released a fizzing sound. Mulberry came up behind me and placed his hand on my hip. I turned to him and opened my mouth to protest, but he shook his head. He stepped closer so our bodies brushed. His face was right above mine, his chin angled down, as I stared at his collarbones. He fisted the short locks at the base of my skull and pulled gently so my chin rose and our lips touched. His kiss was achingly familiar and electrifyingly new. His smell brought back memories I was afraid to face. The pain of my brother's murder lanced through me; the paleness of his skin, the vivid red of his blood as he died—the gaping wound his loss left in me. Everybody I love ends up dead. And not some gentle kiss into the night. They leave this world in violence and suffering; they end in misery. I couldn't watch Mulberry die. But did loving him and denying it hurt more than the grief I feared? P.S. The dog does not die. Beware: If you can’t handle a few f-bombs, you can’t handle this series.