Martin's Must-Reads

There are one million new books published each year.  With so many books and so little time, where do you begin to find your next must-read? There’s the New York Times Bestseller list, the Goodreads app, the Cape Library’s Staff picks shelf and now Martin’s Must-Reads.

Every Wednesday at 6:42 and 8:42 a.m., and now Sunday at 8:18 a.m., Betty Martin recommends a must read based on her own personal biases for historical fiction, quirky characters and overall well-turned phrases. Her list includes WWII novels, biographies of trailblazers, novels with truly unique individuals and lots more. Reading close to 100 titles a year, Betty has plenty of titles to share. Tune in each Wednesday and visit for previous must-reads. 

“On her last night in Egypt, Rose waits for her parents to fall asleep and then sneaks into her sister’s bedroom. She sifts through the clothes strewn on the back of the chair, examines the contents of each desk drawer, picks through every nook of the armoire, then slides the mattress to the side and goes though the things stored under her sister’s bed. ..She assures herself that she is an archaeologist, not a grave robber.”

I’m Betty Martin with "Martin’s Must Reads" and those are lines from the first chapter of Rajia Hassib’s novel A Pure Heart.

“The first baseball games were played in open fields, but the first baseball park—the first place constructed specifically for the game, with places for paying customers and surrounded by walls to keep non-paying customers out—was constructed in Brooklyn, New York.” 

I’m Mark Martin with "Martin’s Must Reads" and so begins a book that every baseball fan should read, Ballpark: Baseball in the American City by Paul Goldberger.

“I have seen the power of human goodness; I know how courageous the most ordinary person can be. The history of my own family bears testament to the power of resistance. Because I have seen, I believe-I know-that darkness cannot last forever. And beyond night’s edge, there is light.”

“There once lived, at a series of temporary addresses across the United State of America, a traveling man of Indian origin, advancing years, and retreating mental powers, who, on account of his love for mindless television, had spent far too much of his life in the yellow light of tawdry motel rooms watching an excess of it and had suffered a peculiar form of brain damage as a result.”

“His mother gave him a new pair of socks, a puffin to eat on the voyage and a kiss on the cheek. ‘God will keep you safe, Quilliam.’ ... It was a blade-sharp August day, the sea burned black by the sun’s brightness. And no, there were no omens hinting at trouble ahead. Horta people notice such things.”