Review
An NPR Best Book of 2023
“The narrator of Ariel Lawhon’s The Frozen River is another stalwart heroine. . .detailed descriptions of the routines of village life give this narrative its intimate sense of connection — and set [the narrator] up for a pivotal confrontation.” --The New York Times Book Review
"Fans of 'Outlander’s' Claire Fraser will enjoy Lawhon’s Martha, who is brave and outspoken when it comes to protecting the innocent. . . impressive." --The Washington Post
“Compelling . . .a most uncozy mystery that addresses the unbalanced power dynamics of men and women, rich and poor.” --NPR, Weekend Edition
“Martha Ballard is not just a Maine midwife who’s never lost a patient. She’s also a truth speaker and a justice seeker in an era when women can’t even testify in court. . .Once again, Lawhon works storytelling magic with a real-life heroine.” --People Magazine, Book of the Week
“[Lawhon’s] gripping tale…feels like an authentic foray into the past and her wonderful heroine rings true. Indeed, Martha is so vividly rendered that it is hard not to become absorbed in her narrative and emotionally invested in her life. . . Martha’s journal entries flesh out further this tough, brave and resourceful woman. Her valiant fight against the evil that men do makes for a winning blend of fact and fiction.” --Minneapolis Star Tribune
"Part murder mystery, part historical fiction . . . this novel has a gothic, wintry feel that makes it an ideal fireside read.” --Real Simple
"A richly satisfying drama . . . A vivid, exciting page-turner from one of our most interesting authors of historical fiction.” --Kirkus, starred review
“Outstanding. . . Martha is an extraordinary character. . . Lawhon's first-rate tale should entrance readers passionate about early America and women’s history.” --Booklist, starred review
“Atmospheric, unique and elegantly written, The Frozen River will satisfy mystery lovers and historical fiction enthusiasts alike.” --BookPage, starred review
“Gripping. . . Examines the ripple effects of a crime in a small community—and paints a striking portrait of a woman devoted to healing and justice. . . Lawhon draws on the real Martha Ballard’s diary to construct her narrative, which contains a number of breathless twists and a large cast of hardscrabble characters. . . Lawhon’s novel is a riveting story of small-town justice and a fitting tribute to a quiet, determined heroine.” --Shelf Awareness, starred review
"A propulsive historical thriller with a contemporary sensibility." --Portland Press Herald
"The stirring story of one woman’s quest for justice. . . Lawhon combines modern prose with the immediacy of her source material, making for an accessible and textured narrative. This accomplished historical powerfully speaks to centuries-old inequities that remain in the present day." --Publishers Weekly
“Unputdownable. . . an intriguing protagonist, a twisty mystery, rich period detail. . . In a novel focused on weighty issues and worthy struggles, it was a joy to stumble across this standout, satisfying love story.” --Christian Science Monitor
"A thoroughly engaging, rich story with a murder mystery; secrets, gossip, and hypocrisy; a corrupt judge; a tightly knit community of villagers; women at the mercy of a patriarchal society; and the early stages of a developing justice system following the Revolutionary War. . . Turn the last page, and you will want more of this world she has created." --Historical Novel Society
“The Frozen River is so vivid, so textured and multilayered, that I felt I'd opened a door and entered post-revolutionary America, walking beside Lawhon's compelling characters in a time and place riven by hardship, disease, and misogyny, but also intense love and searing natural beauty. This novel was unlike anything I'd read before, and it left me awe-struck.” --Lauren Belfer, New York Times bestselling author of City of Light and Ashton Hall
“Simultaneously a mystery, a manifesto, and a memoir, The Frozen River resurrects both Martha’s story and the stories of those she fought for.” --Chapter 16
"A tense yet tender story about a remarkable woman meant to be remembered." --Women's World
“This engrossing mystery . . . brings to life a fascinating woman who would otherwise be lost to time.” --First for Women
“Ariel Lawhon does an amazing job not only of bringing the historical period to life, but also of drawing parallels between Martha’s struggles and the continuing fight of victims to be believed here in the 21st century. . . Gripping and occasionally harrowing, this is historical fiction that reminds readers of how much we owe the pioneers of the past for the liberties we have today, and how we must fight never to let those hard-earned rights be taken away.” --Criminal Element
About the Author
ARIEL LAWHON is a critically acclaimed, New York Times bestselling author of historical fiction. Her books have been translated in numerous languages and have been Library Reads, One Book One County, Indie Next, Costco, Amazon Spotlight, and Book of the Month Club selections. She lives in the rolling hills outside Nashville, Tennessee, with her husband and four sons. Ariel splits her time between the grocery store and the baseball field.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
What’s Past Is Prologue
The body floats downstream. But it is late November, and the Kennebec River is starting to freeze, large chunks of ice swirling and tumbling through the water, collecting in mounds while clear, cold fingers of ice stretch out from either bank, reaching into the current, grabbing hold of all that passes by. Already weighted down by soaked clothing and heavy leather boots, the dead man bobs in the ebbing current, unseeing eyes staring at the waning crescent moon.
It is a miserable night with bitter wind and numbing frost, and the slower the river moves, the quicker it freezes, trapping him in its sluggish grip, as folds of his homespun linen shirt are thrown out like petals of a wilted brown tulip. Just an hour ago his hair was combed and pulled back, tied with a strip of lace. He’d taken the lace, of course, and it is possible--fate is such a fragile thing, after all--that he might still be alive if not for that choice. But it was insult on top of injury. Wars have been fought over less.
The dead man was in a hurry to leave this place, was in too much trouble already, and had he taken more care, been patient, he would have heard his assailants in the forest. Heard. Hidden. Held his breath. And waited for them to pass. But the dead man was reckless and impatient. Panting. He’d left tracks in the snow and was not hard to find. His hair came loose in the struggle, the bit of lace reclaimed and shoved in a pocket, and now that hair, brown as a muddy riverbank, is a tangled mess, part of it plastered to his forehead, part in his mouth, pulled there during a last startled gasp before he was thrown into the river.
His tangled, broken body is dragged along by the current for another quarter of a mile before the ice congeals and grinds to a halt with a tired moan, trapping him fifteen feet from the shore, face an inch below the surface, lips parted, eyes still widened in surprise.
The great freeze has come a month early to the town of Hallowell, Maine, and--the dead man could not know this, nor could anyone who lives here--the thaw will not arrive for many, many long months. They will call this the Year of the Long Winter. It will become legend, and he, no small part of it. For now, however, they sleep safe and warm in their beds, doors shut tight against an early, savage winter. But there--along the riverbank, if you look closely--something dark and agile moves in the moonlight. A fox. Tentative, she sets one paw onto the ice. Then another. She hesitates, for she knows how fickle the river can be, how it longs to swallow everything and pull it into the churning depths. But the ice holds, and the fox inches forward, toward the dead man. She creeps out to where he lies, entombed in the ice. The clever little beast looks at him, her head tilted to the side, but he does not return the gaze. She lifts her nose to the sky. Sniffs for danger. Inhales the pungent scent of frost and pine along the river and, farther away, the faintest whiff of woodsmoke. Satisfied, the fox begins to howl.
Memory is a wicked thing that warps and twists. But paper and ink receive the truth without emotion, and they read it back without partiality. That, I believe, is why so few women are taught to read and write. God only knows what they would do with the power of pen and ink at their disposal.Highlighted by 6,442 Kindle readers
