As a former journalist, and as a citizen who is deeply concerned about the multiple threats facing the news media today, I was heartened and moved by Sunshine Girl, which can be seen as an extended tribute to the reporters and editors who devote long hours to shedding light on issues that would otherwise be overlooked, or actively hidden from view. With depth and feeling, the novel also explores the struggles of a family with close ties to the news business.
Sunshine Girl focuses mainly on four characters: Martin Donovan, a second-generation newspaperman who’s enthusiastically dedicated to the craft of reporting and newswriting; Martin’s wife, Judith; Martin and Judith’s daughter, Eliza, a great admirer of her father and, eventually, a journalist in her own right; and Mina Breckenridge, a colleague of Martin’s who ends up charting a separate–and geographically distant–course in the news business, for personal reasons that have far-reaching consequences.
Eliza is the only first-person point-of-view character in the novel, giving her parts of the book a more intimate, immediate feeling and offering readers a front-row perspective on everything that’s unfolding in the present. From her viewpoint, these developments include ongoing conflicts with her parents and the growing stresses that face her as she advances in the news business, an industry plagued by growing financial and existential threats.
One of the most significant relationships in the novel is the one between Eliza and her father, Martin, who calls Eliza his Sunshine Girl. She enjoys spending time with him at the newspaper where he works and begins to show interest in becoming a journalist herself. Eventually, she finds a mentor in Mina, a promising young reporter at the paper. Mina treats Eliza with kindness and encourages her growing ambitions to also become a reporter. When, during the holidays, Eliza discovers Mina and Martin kissing under some mistletoe in Mina’s office, this sparks Eliza’s reporter’s instincts, prompting her to record the moment in a journal tucked in her coat pocket. She observes: “Daddy and Mina both taught me that if you wanted to be a good reporter, you had to watch and listen and write things down. And you had to tell the truth.” As Eliza will eventually learn, the truth about the relationship between her father and Mina becomes quite complicated.
In contrast to her closeness with her father, Eliza’s relationship with her mother, Judith, is strained at best, and in time, a new development threatens to tear the whole family apart. When Martin is diagnosed with dystonia, which leaves him increasingly debilitated and, eventually, unable to continue working, he decides to move to a long-term residential treatment center in Mexico, seeing this as the only route to improving his condition. This leaves both Eliza and Judith feeling abandoned, and although Eliza still loves her father, it’s unclear whether their relationship will ever fully recover. As for Mina, she departs the paper where she’d worked with Martin, now possessing a secret whose revelation could have lasting consequences for him, Judith, and Eliza. (It turns out that Mina’s new employer, the Juneau Tribune, in Alaska, eventually hires Eliza as well.)
These personal difficulties point toward one of my favorite aspects of the novel: its thoughtful exploration of conflicts in close relationships, familial and otherwise, and of what might be gained or lost by forgiving–or reestablishing contact with–someone we believe has gravely wronged us, or never quite understood us. As she works through this calculus with her father, her mother, and Mina, Eliza helps us feel the emotional weight and complexity of this endeavor, and in each case she comes to conclusions that feel authentic and earned.
In parallel with portraying the dreams and struggles of Eliza, Martin, Mina, and Judith, Sunshine Girl deftly explores the financial, political, and work pressures on journalists and newspapers. For example, after Eliza becomes a reporter at the Juneau Tribune, joining Mina there, we learn of a proposal at the paper to charge money for obituaries. Management believes this would be a smart way to bring in needed revenue, but Mina sees this as a deeply cynical development, one that could eventually turn off subscribers.
As an example of the work pressures facing reporters, Mina holds Eliza and her colleagues to the highest of standards even when they feel stretched to their limits by deadline pressures and workloads made heavier by layoffs at their financially strained employer. Although Mina’s standards are just and admirable, they shed light on how difficult it is for many reporters to do the best job possible, especially now that profit margins in the news business are narrow to nonexistent, leading to cuts in staffing and calls to “do more with less.” Worse, financial strains–and buyouts by venture-capital firms–have forced many newspapers to close altogether.
The novel also portrays attempts to undermine fact-based reporting, with one of Eliza’s former newspaper colleagues founding a paper spouting far-right propaganda. Worse, we see how grievances against the news media can lead to violence, which in Eliza’s case, hits very close to home. Through developments like these, Sunshine Girl sounds a warning bell against far-right attacks on the truth while standing up for efforts to uphold fact-based journalism.
In conclusion, I was captivated by Eliza’s story, and it was rewarding to see the challenging–and challenged–work of news reporters and editors portrayed with such thoughtfulness, respect, and depth. It’s a pleasure to recommend this novel.
Would My Pick be Your Pick?
If you're interested in ________, the answer may be "Yes":￭ Stories about family conflicts
￭ Deep dives into the news business and the pressures it’s facing
￭ Coming-of-age stories
￭ Stories about self-discovery