Buckeye – Patrick Ryan
Every so often you stumble onto a novel that immediately feels like it’s operating at your exact narrative frequency. “Buckeye” did that for me. From page one, Patrick Ryan had a quiet, steady confidence that almost made you forget you’re reading and not spying on living, breathing people.
The story opens with a simple kiss — celebratory, impulsive and not even remotely sexy — and then rewinds to show how that moment in Cal and Margaret’s lives would alter the trajectory of everything that comes after. What I loved is that from that point on, Ryan gives each character enough page-time for us to truly understand their “why.”
[some spoilers ahead]
First up is Cal, a man who has learned to shrink himself — one leg shorter since birth, a father who’s an embarrassing conspiracy theorist and a town that sees him as the guy who didn’t serve in World War II. There’s a tenderness in the way Ryan writes him, even when Cal can’t see it in himself.
His relationship with Becky starts almost accidentally, built around a letter she asks him to hold until she’s 60, which is such a strangely sweet detail that it sets the tone for their whole life together. He is the practical stalwart; she the optimistic dreamer.
Becky’s medium abilities, noted in the dust jacket, were something I expected to dislike — honestly, they were part of why I delayed picking this up — but they work. They give the story a slight surreal sheen without ever tipping into the supernatural. Her mini-burst of notoriety drives exactly the kind of wedge you’d expect in a small-town marriage already stretched thin.
Then we get Margaret’s backstory, and it is a doozy. These chapters are where the novel really opens up. Raised in an orphanage until 18, her move to the big city (Columbus) is her first taste of true independence and messy early-adult choices.
Her relationship with Felix is especially well done: two people who aren’t entirely sure they’re right for each other — each carrying secrets that act as a third wheel — but willing to give it a go. Felix, especially, is written with reverence: gay, closeted and trying to build a respectable life in a world that offers almost no pathways to do that. Nothing about their marriage is cruel; it just isn’t enough for either of them.
Part II is where everything starts coming together. Yes, some of it is predictable — the affair, the baby that obviously isn’t Felix’s and the marriages straining and reconfiguring themselves — but predictability doesn’t bother me when the execution is this smooth. Ryan keeps everything grounded, and the conflicts feel like the natural consequences.
My only real nitpick is that a few parent-related subplots feel like they wandered in from a different outline, but even then, the overall cohesion of the story wins out.
Part III jumps ahead, and this is usually where multigenerational historical fiction novels lose me, but this one actually gets more interesting. Margaret exiles herself to Columbus, stubbornly alone and too proud to reconsider it. Cal and Becky, in a quietly lovely turn, fold Felix and his son Tom into their family as if trying to make the universe balance out.
Skip’s death in Vietnam is brutal but not overwrought, and Felix’s later years broke my heart: the PTSD, his lost love, the career collapse and the way he and Tom carve a new path forward knowing they aren’t related by blood. Just when he is finding peace and happiness, Ryan takes him from us.
[spoilers ended]
By the end, I realized I loved each of the four main characters for completely different reasons: Margaret for her self-preservation, Felix for his loyalty and tenderness, Cal for being the stoic and Becky for her big, earnest heart. Predictable or not, I didn’t care — the pleasure here is in watching Ryan thread decades of small choices into full lives.
Michael Crouch, as always, was a big draw for me on audio. While not his all-time best performance, he really nailed Margaret and Felix in a way that made the whole experience feel even more intimate.
When it ended, I had that little ache you get when you realize you’re not going to check in on these people tomorrow. The story is so ordinary on paper — marriages, mistakes, disappointments and small-town routines — yet it hit me hard anyway. Easily a top read of 2025.
Rating (story): 5/5 stars
Rating (narration): 4/5 stars
Format: Audiobook (personal library)
Dates read: November 29 – December 4, 2025
Multi-tasking: Not recommended. It took me about 20 percent to find the rhythm of the story, and I even had to re-listen to a few chapters because my mind kept wandering. If you don’t lock in early, you’re probably not going to enjoy this as much as you should.
