The River Is Waiting

December 1, 2024

Lamb, a bestseller whose fiction has twice been picked for Oprah's Book Club, returns with the story of a young father who is sentenced to prison after he causes an unbearable tragedy. In jail, he forms kinship with the prison librarian and others, finding a way to transcend the walls of his cell and think about hope, mercy, and reconciliation. Prepub Alert.

Copyright 2024 Library Journal

Copyright 2024 Library Journal, LLC Used with permission.

March 1, 2025
A year after being laid off, artist Corby Ledbetter is floundering. He enjoys the opportunity to care for his twin toddlers but struggles with anxiety and depression and finds himself repeatedly turning to alcohol and benzodiazepines to make it through the days, all while lying to his wife about how he spends his time. One morning, a moment of inattention leads to a horrifying tragedy that results in Corby being sentenced to three years in prison. During his incarceration, Corby grapples with his feelings of guilt, remorse, and anger and questions whether he will ever be truly forgiven for his crime, particularly by his wife. Lamb, who has spent years running a writing program at a women's correctional institution, sheds light on the inhumanity and cruelty of the American prison system, at times in graphic detail, while also offering glimmers of hope and friendship in the characters of a supportive librarian, a kind cellmate, and a young inmate wrestling with his own demons. There are no simple resolutions in this gripping drama, and Lamb offers plenty to ponder about guilt, innocence, rehabilitation, and forgiveness.

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March 15, 2025
"Can a man who caused the death of his childever atone enough to be forgiven?" That is the central question raised by Lamb's novel of every parent's worst nightmare. That nightmare becomes a reality for unemployed commercial artist Corby Ledbetter, who cares for toddler twins Maisie and Niko while his wife, Emily, works. One morning in 2017, Corby pops a couple of Ativans, pours rum in his coffee, plays peekaboo with the kids, burns the toast, and ruminates about his marriage, all before backing his car over Niko in the driveway. In these horrific yet riveting opening 12 pages, Corby's narration is as blatantly unreliable--"It's not like I'm addicted"--as his character is unsympathetic. His denial and self-pity are infuriating compared to Emily's raw despair over Niko's death. But during the course of the next three years, Corby gradually earns more trust. The first turning point occurs when he realizes that lying about his responsibility devalues Niko's life, and he chooses to confess his intoxication to both Emily and the police. Found guilty of second-degree involuntary manslaughter, he heads to prison for three years, the future of his marriage uncertain. The almost day-by-day recounting of his prison experience makes up the bulk of Corby's narration. Expect familiar tropes: racist white inmates; sadistic guards; a gossipy gay cellmate who evolves into a genuine, trustworthy friend; a saintly prison librarian who gives Corby space to create art. Corby's self-education about systemic inequality and racism, however earnest and accurate, tends toward the didactic. But Lamb expertly shows his arduous, bumpy progression toward maturity and creates equally complex characters in Emily and especially in Solomon, an emotionally fragile young inmate Colby takes under his protection, probably saving his life--an ironic parallel neither lost on readers nor overstated. This sometimes-gripping, sometimes-labored story of grief, guilt, and healing is uneven, like the recovery it chronicles.

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