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December 7, 2015
Griffin’s forceful debut novel examines the lives of two men who meet and fall in love in North Carolina shortly after the end of World War II. Wendell Wilson, a taxidermist, falls for war veteran Frank Clifton, and they live cautiously as a couple at a time when being outed as gay meant a prison sentence. They buy a house on the edge of town and rarely venture outside together, instead spending evenings in front of the television watching the broadcast of the local “Debbie Drowner” trial. Flashbacks illustrate their courtship and early years, and illuminate the difficulties in being forced to live a closeted life. They cannot even ask a stranger to take a photograph of them together as a couple. After Frank suffers a mild stroke and is subsequently diagnosed with a deteriorating heart condition, Wendell has to pretend to be his brother in order to visit him in hospital. As Frank’s physical and mental health both begin to unravel, Wendell fights to keep their lives from falling apart. The novel’s descriptive passages are too long at times, but Griffin manages to paint a compassionate portrait of a lifelong love that will linger with readers.

October 1, 2015
Deliberately paced, thoughtful story of men in love over many years against considerable odds. Gay life in the South doesn't always take place in a colonial row house in Savannah or a beachfront condo in Myrtle Beach. In Griffin's debut novel, it's lived out in the shadows in a run-down North Carolina mill town, where Wendell Wilson, a taxidermist, has lived a long and eventful life with Frank Clifton, a World War II veteran who melted Wendell's heart the minute they met. Or melted the world, anyway, for with Frank's smile, "the branches shuddered off their casts of ice, and the power lines broke free of their insulation, snapped taut and scattered it over the street in pieces that still cupped the hollow channel where the wire had run." That's some powerful allure. The title of Griffin's novel is both noun and verb, for while Wendell works magic with the bodies of unfortunate animals, the men keep their relationship secret, lest they be hounded out of town. But now Frank is 83, has had a mild stroke, and has affairs to get in order. As Frank grapples with a faltering mind and body and difficult memories of war]crushing the head of an enemy soldier with a rock "ain't the worst I did," he grumbles]Wendell finds himself in the unwished-for role of caretaker. Griffin's story sometimes feels derivative, with dollops of Annie Proulx here and lashings of Allan Gurganus there, with some Jane Smiley and perhaps Bobbie Ann Mason thrown in for good measure. But it also feels genuine, recounting the love of two very different people made to live in fear but who endure with considerable dignity, allowing for the occasional mishap. On that note, animal lovers will shudder at one terrible episode, late in the book, involving a dog and a lawn mower. Suffice it to say, it's not for the squeamish. An assured introduction. Readers will want to hear more from Griffin, though perhaps without sputtering motors and whirring blades.

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Starred review from December 15, 2015
Their names are Frank Clifton and Wendell Wilson, two gay men who live their isolated lives on the fringes of society, in constant fear of being found out. Anyone who has seen the iconic Brokeback Mountain will recognize their milieu, circumstances, and sense of paranoia and secrecy. When Frank is hospitalized, Wendell tells the staff that Frank is his brother so he can visit him. In his debut novel, Griffin reveals the heart of their relationship as based on respect, perseverance, and dogged loyalty. What is perhaps most remarkable about Griffin's touching tale is its very ordinariness. There is nothing particularly special about this relationship. Rather, Griffin follows it through the decades as he recalls in flashbacks how the men met and how they stayed together, capturing the quotidian moments of life itself. Wendell complains about the anonymity of the health-care system ( You can't have just one doctor anymore, one person who knows all there is to know about you ) but then acknowledges that they never did take photographs of each other in public places, nor did they ever write love letters to each other ( anything someone might find ). It is moments like these that elevate Griffin's novel to something like a small miracle: a bittersweet portrait of love in the shadows.(Reprinted with permission of Booklist, copyright 2015, American Library Association.)