Louise Erdrich’s 1996 novel, Tales of Burning Love, should not be put off another day. Get a copy from a bookstore, library, or Kindle. Launch in.

People think that Jack Mauser burned up in a house fire. He neglects to mention his resurrection to anyone. This plot twist feels Shakespearian as when the brother and sister are separated in a storm at the beginning of Twelfth Night. The Jack-induced craziness begins with his latest fakery.

Jack’s former wives–serial marriages–attend his wake and, to say the least, they mostly do not get along. However, they share a greater loathing for the deadbeat cheater who runs his contractor outfit by keeping credit running by taking money from the new job to pay off the old one. But it turns out that their feelings are, um, complicated.

Later in the evening at the funeral home, news comes that a big blizzard is about to blow in. Dot, Candice, Marlin, and Eleanor leave together. Driving conditions worsen until the vehicle gets stuck in a freeway underpass. They cannot back up, they cannot go forward. Worse, the only food is a few snacks and some candy. They run the engine to warm up for a few minutes every hour. They form a human chain to clean out around the exhaust and keep it open so they do not asphyxiate themselves. With the cold increasing, they must keep awake.

They tell stories. Several ground rules: first, they must be true and, second, they must be about Jack. Thus begins the Indigenous version of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales and Boccaccio’s Decameron. The stories are by turns harrowing, funny, and poignant. In this case, I will not reveal any spoilers. Dear Reader, do not faint.

Because the point of this review is to encourage you to finish reading a book that you start to read. I bought this novel about the time it came out in 1996. And I finished it on March 17, 2024. It rested on my book shelves for almost 30 years and through three moves since 2016. That is a very long time for any book to wallow on a TBR pile.

Yes, I am guilty of procrastination in the first degree. I figured I would get to it. In fact, I may have even begun to read the novel in years past and then put it aside. I do not recall. Eventually, it found its way from my hands back to the shelf.

I picked it up and finally read it, that is, some of it. I put it down on my reading table. The book sat for weeks before I picked it up yet again. I confess that I was not enamored of the early part of the novel. Finally, I decided to finish the damn thing. Yes, I did! It was a marvelous reading experience after the snow begins to blow and the women’s tales are told. My initial arduous ordeal reminds me that I should read a book through when I pick it up.

On the other hand, wait until I review The Lord of the Rings, another slow, deliberate read on my part. I am a poor object for my own excellent advice. Do not do what I do, do what I write.

Read it today. No, that is wrong. Read Tales of Burning Love NOW!