Every so often I come across a novel that feels both sweeping and intimate, a story that stretches across decades yet still manages to sit quietly with the small, private moments that shape a life. Buckeye by Patrick Ryan is exactly that kind of book. Set in mid twentieth century Ohio, it follows two families whose lives become entwined through love, longing, secrets and the slow turning of time. It is historical fiction with a tender pulse, never sentimental yet deeply emotive, and I found myself lingering over its quieter insights long after I finished.
The story begins during the final years of the Second World War. Cal Jenkins, unable to serve because of a physical disability, is wrestling with a sense of inadequacy while trying to build a life in the small town of Bonhomie. Becky, bright and intuitive, carries the unusual ability to sense messages from the dead, a gift she embraces even as it complicates her marriage. In Columbus, Margaret is leaving behind a childhood spent in an orphanage and stepping into adulthood with a mixture of bravery and naivety. Felix, a successful engineer, is determined to bury the truth of his sexuality beneath the appearance of a perfect marriage. These four lives intersect in ways that feel both fated and painfully human, and the consequences ripple across more than thirty years.
What struck me most was how character driven the novel is. The pacing is gentle, sometimes almost meandering, but in a way that mirrors real life. Ryan allows his characters to breathe, to falter, to make choices that are not always admirable yet always understandable. I appreciated the positive and thoughtful portrayal of disability in Cal, and the way Ryan handles Felix’s internal conflict with empathy rather than judgement. Becky’s extrasensory ability is the one element that edges into the supernatural, yet it never overwhelms the story. Instead, it sits alongside the other threads, another facet of a community trying to make sense of loss and hope.
There are moments when the narrative feels slow, and the final quarter moves more briskly than I expected, but the emotional payoff remains strong. The middle of the book, in particular, is beautifully crafted, full of nuance and quiet revelations. I found myself reflecting on the themes long after closing the final page. Grief, abandonment, loyalty, forgiveness and the parts of ourselves we hide even from those we love most are all explored with a gentle but perceptive touch.
Readers who enjoy thoughtful historical fiction, multi-generational sagas and stories that prioritise character over plot will find much to love here. It is not a page turner in the traditional sense, but it is deeply rewarding.
In the end, Buckeye left me feeling hopeful. It is a warm and deeply human novel, full of mistakes, stumbles and small acts of courage. A quiet epic that reminds us how lives intertwine in ways we rarely expect, and how beauty can be found in the most ordinary corners of time.
