Review of Deceptive Calm
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Emmaculate Akoth 1
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Review of Deceptive Calm
[Following is a volunteer review of "Deceptive Calm" by Patricia Skipper.]
There is a particular kind of quiet storm that brews in books like “Deceptive Calm" by Patricia Skipper, where the tension of the setting hums beneath every sentence, and the characters you meet start to feel like people you once knew or could have been. Set in 1968 Charleston, the novel doesn't just touch on the tensions of the civil rights era, it grabs them by the collar and forces you to look.
I went into this thinking I would get a historical fiction story with some familiar notes like racial strife, youthful rebellion, and maybe a coming-of-age subplot tucked in for good measure. What I got instead was a deeply layered, heart-thumping narrative that reads like a mix of courtroom testimony, love letter to lost innocence, and blistering social commentary, all held together with a smart, cinematic voice that’s impossible to ignore.
What really caught me off guard in the best way was how personal and real the violence felt. The opening chapters waste no time getting under your skin. The bus scene, where a group of Catholic school kids, Black and white together, are ambushed by the Klan, isn’t just a pivotal moment in the book. It’s a gut punch. Trisha, one of the white students, gets hit in the head with a brick. The imagery is visceral: blood in her eyes, chaos all around, smoke thick in the air, Klansmen with bats and torches. It’s ugly, and it’s meant to be.
But the story doesn’t linger on violence for its own sake. It uses it to illuminate the strength of the characters, and man, do they shine. Barry, the son of a Black neurosurgeon, becomes the unlikely hero when he takes the wheel and literally drives the group out of danger, plowing through parked cars and chaos to get them to safety. But not to just any hospital, to Cannon Street Hospital, a Black institution. This choice alone sparks all kinds of complicated tension that the book isn’t afraid to stare down. There is a powerful moment where white police officers show up and demand that the white kids be transferred to a white hospital. But Barry’s father, cool, composed, utterly unshakable, pushes back. “Blood is typed,” he tells them. “It has nothing to do with race.” It’s moments like that that elevate this book from solid historical fiction to something more meaningful.
What I especially appreciated was how the book doesn’t turn its characters into walking soapboxes. Everyone is messy, flawed, human. Vanessa, for example, a light-skinned Black girl raised in an orphanage, quietly carries the weight of not being “Black enough” for potential adoptive families. The way she speaks about never having been inside a house, how she lingers over rugs and pictures and furniture during her first visit to Trisha’s home, it’s quietly devastating. The author doesn't preach; she just shows, and that restraint gives these moments real weight.
The humor sprinkled throughout surprised me, too. Sister Rosalie, the charismatic and history-obsessed nun who’s equal parts thunderstorm and sugar, is absolutely unforgettable. She rants about Jefferson Davis, shouts down police officers, and somehow manages to turn every sentence into a history lesson with the flair of a Southern Baptist preacher and a college professor rolled into one. Her love for Charleston’s tangled history, even as a Black woman in a segregated city, is complex and oddly touching.
Now, let’s talk about the prose: clean, confident, and cinematic. It’s clear the book was professionally edited, the pacing is tight, the dialogue rings true, and there is not a scene that overstays its welcome. Whether it’s a hospital corridor buzzing with tension, or the silence between two teens after their first awkward kiss, everything feels earned.
If I had to nitpick, I might say there are a few moments where the history lessons start to feel like sidebars, but even then, they are often delivered with such charm, usually via Sister Rosalie, that you don’t really mind. In fact, by the end, you start to crave those tangents because they add texture to a time period that many books gloss over with cliché.
Honestly, this book floored me. It’s one of those reads that feels timely no matter the year, because it taps into the raw stuff of human decency, fear, courage, and love. There is a lot of talk these days about books that “start conversations,” but this one finishes them too, and it does so with grace, grit, and a whole lot of heart. The book deserves a 5 out of 5 rating because it dares to be bold, emotional, and true.
******
Deceptive Calm
View: on Bookshelves | on Amazon
There is a particular kind of quiet storm that brews in books like “Deceptive Calm" by Patricia Skipper, where the tension of the setting hums beneath every sentence, and the characters you meet start to feel like people you once knew or could have been. Set in 1968 Charleston, the novel doesn't just touch on the tensions of the civil rights era, it grabs them by the collar and forces you to look.
I went into this thinking I would get a historical fiction story with some familiar notes like racial strife, youthful rebellion, and maybe a coming-of-age subplot tucked in for good measure. What I got instead was a deeply layered, heart-thumping narrative that reads like a mix of courtroom testimony, love letter to lost innocence, and blistering social commentary, all held together with a smart, cinematic voice that’s impossible to ignore.
What really caught me off guard in the best way was how personal and real the violence felt. The opening chapters waste no time getting under your skin. The bus scene, where a group of Catholic school kids, Black and white together, are ambushed by the Klan, isn’t just a pivotal moment in the book. It’s a gut punch. Trisha, one of the white students, gets hit in the head with a brick. The imagery is visceral: blood in her eyes, chaos all around, smoke thick in the air, Klansmen with bats and torches. It’s ugly, and it’s meant to be.
But the story doesn’t linger on violence for its own sake. It uses it to illuminate the strength of the characters, and man, do they shine. Barry, the son of a Black neurosurgeon, becomes the unlikely hero when he takes the wheel and literally drives the group out of danger, plowing through parked cars and chaos to get them to safety. But not to just any hospital, to Cannon Street Hospital, a Black institution. This choice alone sparks all kinds of complicated tension that the book isn’t afraid to stare down. There is a powerful moment where white police officers show up and demand that the white kids be transferred to a white hospital. But Barry’s father, cool, composed, utterly unshakable, pushes back. “Blood is typed,” he tells them. “It has nothing to do with race.” It’s moments like that that elevate this book from solid historical fiction to something more meaningful.
What I especially appreciated was how the book doesn’t turn its characters into walking soapboxes. Everyone is messy, flawed, human. Vanessa, for example, a light-skinned Black girl raised in an orphanage, quietly carries the weight of not being “Black enough” for potential adoptive families. The way she speaks about never having been inside a house, how she lingers over rugs and pictures and furniture during her first visit to Trisha’s home, it’s quietly devastating. The author doesn't preach; she just shows, and that restraint gives these moments real weight.
The humor sprinkled throughout surprised me, too. Sister Rosalie, the charismatic and history-obsessed nun who’s equal parts thunderstorm and sugar, is absolutely unforgettable. She rants about Jefferson Davis, shouts down police officers, and somehow manages to turn every sentence into a history lesson with the flair of a Southern Baptist preacher and a college professor rolled into one. Her love for Charleston’s tangled history, even as a Black woman in a segregated city, is complex and oddly touching.
Now, let’s talk about the prose: clean, confident, and cinematic. It’s clear the book was professionally edited, the pacing is tight, the dialogue rings true, and there is not a scene that overstays its welcome. Whether it’s a hospital corridor buzzing with tension, or the silence between two teens after their first awkward kiss, everything feels earned.
If I had to nitpick, I might say there are a few moments where the history lessons start to feel like sidebars, but even then, they are often delivered with such charm, usually via Sister Rosalie, that you don’t really mind. In fact, by the end, you start to crave those tangents because they add texture to a time period that many books gloss over with cliché.
Honestly, this book floored me. It’s one of those reads that feels timely no matter the year, because it taps into the raw stuff of human decency, fear, courage, and love. There is a lot of talk these days about books that “start conversations,” but this one finishes them too, and it does so with grace, grit, and a whole lot of heart. The book deserves a 5 out of 5 rating because it dares to be bold, emotional, and true.
******
Deceptive Calm
View: on Bookshelves | on Amazon
