by Rose Rosetree

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In THE ROAR OF THE HUNTIDS, the heroine becomes a skilled empath. What motivated Rose Rosetree to write her story was the desire to help readers try out this hitherto unconventional career path. Here’s how she explains this:

About 1 in 20 people has an built-in, significant, trainable gift as an empath. Yet even in my fictional America of 2020, few people know about it. In real America today, almost nobody is a skilled empath. On TV (where, let’s face it, we seek our role models), among the bimbos, murderers and other characters, I’ve found only one empath--and she’s in re-runs--Counselor Deanna Troi of "Star Trek: The Next Generation."

Being a skilled empath, like her, opens up wonderful opportunities for service to others, but the greatest significance is personal. The suffering of unskilled empaths tends to be chronic, hard to identify and immensely painful. With skill, the very same gift becomes a source of joy.

My last how-to book, EMPOWERED BY EMPATHY, gives a practical answer to the question, "What does it mean to be an empath?" THE ROAR OF THE HUNTIDS attempts to supply a fictional answer.

Most commonly, empathy happens in terms of connecting with another person’s emotions. But it turns out that other forms of empathy can give insights into health, psychology, intellectual specialties, spirituality and more.

It took me more than three years of novel writing to do the plot and characters justice. Before that it took decades of exploration for me to learn about my own gifts as an empath and how to make them work constructively. These are the levels of deeper perception I explored along the way:

BODY LANGUAGE is the first, most obvious level for reading people more deeply. It’s also great fun, since there’s such useful insight available through nonverbal communication. Physical posture and facial expression are often at odds with what a person attempts to convey on the surface, through words.

And if you must choose between the two parts of a mixed message, the nonverbal part will be more accurate. If, for instance, you’re attempting a heart-to-heart talk with a man who stands before you, allegedly eager to have the conversation—-yet his arms are crossed over his chest—-well, good luck!

Maybe you can remember when you first became consciously skilled at this form of deeper perception. Exciting, yes. But it’s really just the beginning, Deeper Layer #1.

In fact, if you’re a Body Language enthusiast, chances are that your perception has already started to drift and shift into the deeper layers. Learning about them will validate your experience... and also point you forward for further study.

Layer #2 is FACE READING, where you look at the physical face itself for insights. For the past 3,000 years, physiognomists have interpreted the shapes and angles of the physical face. My trademarked adaptation of this ancient art is designed to open the heart. It will show you faces in a new light. For example, you’ll discover that cheek proportions disclose power style, eyebrows show intellectual patterns and noses reveal talents for work.

The laws of heredity notwithstanding, the soul shapes the face and evolves it over a lifetime. You can learn more about the accuracy of Face Reading Secrets® in my birdwatcher’s guide for people, The Power of Face Reading.

Level #3 involves noticing people in an intuitive way. One minute you’ll be exploring Body Language or Face Reading and click!, you’ll slip into something much deeper. For instance, it may dawn on you that the woman you’re watching is happy or frightened or lying like crazy. You’ll see/feel/know this even though her body language reveals nothing of the sort; if anything, she may be using body language to HIDE it.

Well, instead of thinking that means you need to learn even more about arcane specialties of nonverbal communication, consider this possibility: WHAT IF BODY LANGUAGE SERVES AS A MASK AT LEAST AS OFTEN AS IT REVEALS AN INNER SECRET?

In my experience, this happens to be true. If you’d like to understand why, maybe it’s time to go deeper and read Level #3, AURAS—-the human energy field.

Auras have far more to them than the popular notion of "seeing the colors." It’s a spiritual level that reveals deep human secrets. And you need not be a certified mystic to read them, just someone who is curious and willing to learn something genuinely new.

Reading auras can help you to appreciate spiritual gifts that you’ve had your whole life but probably not used yet in a conscious way.

Exciting thought, isn’t it? Among other things, this means your people watching could quickly become even more rewarding. Consider becoming an aura reader by using the 100+ techniques presented in AURA READING THROUGH ALL YOUR SENSES or my video, THRILL YOUR SOUL: INSPIRATION FOR CHOOSING YOUR WORK AND RELATIONSHIPS. Or find some other way. There are many good teachers available.

Level #4 is EMPATHY, where you directly experience what it is like to be the person you’re studying. Like aura reading, true empathy is spiritual and subtle... you find yourself slipping into it as easily as Cinderella fit into her glass slipper.

Most commonly, empathy happens in terms of connecting with another person’s emotions. But it turns out that other forms of empathy can give insights into health, psychology, intellectual specialties, spirituality and more. Read about these equally powerful forms of empathy in action when you read THE ROAR OF THE HUNTIDS.

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EXCERPT: CHAPTER ONE

Section One: Love and a Yearning for Lust in Capitol City

Chapter One: Better than Rotten George?

"Hurry up, Brent." Rachel ran toward the front door of her house, calling her son as she juggled purse, water bottles, and jog shoes... plus she threw in some good ab crunches, not that she necessarily needed them.

Brent opened the door from outside and came in to meet her, 52 pounds of irrepressible energy, dressed in bright green shorts and a T-shirt silk-screened with his own smiling picture.

"So that’s where you were. Come on, we’re late."

Brent seemed untouched by her grumpiness as his blond curls followed Rachel into the family’s Honda Hybrid. Every scale on the car’s no-wax alligator finish gleamed—not enough, however, to change Rachel’s mood. With good traffic they’d be lucky to make it by six. She hated being late, especially now, when she needed so badly to talk to Heather.

Of all the stupid cars. How could it tell me to take Bush Parkway? Soon as they turned the corner, Rachel could see all eight lanes on her side of the road were pure crawl. And this was the best route her car could offer? She dug into her seat, preparing to sit, sit, sit. Might as well do some Kegels to keep the time from being a total waste, she thought.

How was Brent doing? She looked over her shoulder. Engrossed in re-reading Globula High, his favorite kid-sized vampire novel, Brent’s eyes never left the page; he took a sip from his soft drink bottle, replaced it between his knees, then unwrapped an extra stick of gum. All that product should keep him busy for a while.

Even if five-mile-an-hour traffic was a predictable nuisance in their part of Capitol City, Brent never seemed to mind. Rachel? She minded. Did the stress of her poky life show? That was the important question. She stared into the rear view mirror and didn’t feel reassured by the fact that, of course, she was technically beautiful. What woman in the 20’s wasn’t? Rachel’s best features were her perky angled eyebrows, naturally straight nose and sexy big cheeks. But who noticed? And who cared that her shoulder-length brown curls were perfect or how her make-up flattered her eyes, which were an unusual shade of golden brown. She stared deeply into those eyes, searching for what her husband, Jeremy, had ever seen in her.

A nearby car beeped, making her jump. Traffic was so slow. Inside Rachel felt a grumble of disgust begin to gather force. What was it with her lately? Rage was starting to take on a life of its own, as though Rachel had pressed her own accelerator down to the floor.

"Swing your arms like this," Brent instructed as they marched from the parking lot. "See? I figured out how you can use your arms to speed up your legs. We don’t want to be late, Mom."

They held hands, swinging them fast back and forth. Rachel loved the feel of Brent’s miniature palm, fitting hers perfectly. And the flow of love between them. Sometimes it seemed to Rachel that she spent all her days loving people—not perfectly, maybe, but the best could. Yet her son seemed to be the only one who loved her back.

How many more years would he be willing to hold hands with her in public? Some day that last bit of little-boy sweetness would go the way of his loony, liquid baby laugh. She’d miss the feel of his happy presence connected with hers, palm to palm.

"Look, Mom, other runners are coming, too. Maybe we’ll make it on time."

Last July, they’d been late for the first meeting of Summer Runner’s Club. Brent claimed it spoiled everything and refused to participate for the rest of the summer. No way would Rachel let that happen two years in a row! She and her best friend, Heather, had made a date to walk-and-talk here every Wednesday. And maybe, just maybe, Heather could help Rachel figure out what to do about her travesty of a marriage.

They joined the group in time for warm-ups. A spry-looking 90-something volunteer in hot pink Air-Flopper shoes was having everyone fill out legal disclaimers. "I promise not to sue you" forms were so routine, you’d fill them out at the entrance to every store in the mall. Without being asked, Rachel showed the volunteer her Digitized Datamate. On the disclaimer, she stamped in the datamate’s unflattering hologram of her family, plus the rest of the standard info:

Rachel joined Brent on the lawn. Seemingly he was doing warm-up stretches. Really he was busy looking backward between his legs, checking out the other kids. Rachel tried this, too. Just before toppling over, she managed to see Heather race to the warm-up area, dragging one daughter by the hand while the other sprinted ahead. Heather saw Rachel, too, tilting her head to one side and her hip to the other, as if to give Rachel a full-body wink.

"No matter what I do, somebody’s going to get hurt." That’s how Rachel wanted to start the conversation once she and Heather began to walk around the track. But Rachel always had to let Heather vent first. That was Heather’s pattern, to Rachel’s carefully hidden annoyance.

"Rachie, you look so pretty with those denim sunglasses. Did you buy them to match your jeans?"

"Just my first pick out of the family UV box." Rachel said, thinking, Pathetic question! Every family has dozens of wraparound glasses. Who but Heather would care?

Her friend, the clotheshorse, preened by patting her braided tower of blonde hair. It was framed by a hologram turtleneck with images of Marilyn Monroe against a soft yellow background. Heather looked better than Marilyn, though. In addition to Heather’s long cheerleader legs below, were the fabulous dimples above.

They showed even when Heather didn’t smile. Now, for instance. Several months into her separation from Rotten George, Heather still complained on a regular basis. Rachel was determined to listen with depth, like the good friend she was, but what a thankless chore! Whether you listened to her so hard your heart ached or you merely went through the motions, Heather didn’t seem to be able to tell the difference.

At least Rachel was getting exercise walking the track. Unlike Heather, she needed it. In her natural state she’d plump out like micro-waved tofu.

Continuing her tale of woe, Heather said, "The girls came back from visiting George last weekend. He took them out for ice cream. Ashley made the mistake of asking if he thought she was pretty."

Rachel smiled fondly. Though Ashley was five now, she still had a baby doll look, with an innocent face framed by bright blonde hair. By contrast, her big sister was wiry and smart. Close to Brent’s age, Kayla had straight eyebrows that darted across her face and an equally direct way of speaking her mind. Little Ashley took after her mother instead, and was promising to be quite the little flirt.

"Oh, Heather, how could he mess that one up? Ashley’s adorable."

"You think so? Not to good old Georgie. He told her, ‘You’re cute now but don’t let yourself stay chubby when you grow up. Men prefer girls who are slim.’"

"What? He thinks your daughter’s been wasting her first five years of life, not dieting?"

"The night Ashley came home, she cried herself to sleep. How could a father tell his daughter something like that?"

"Coming from George, I guess it makes sense," Rachel said. "Let’s face it. All the man thinks about is sex, and he’s been taught t hat thin equals sexy."

"Rotten George was always a no-brainer sex machine. I guess the difference is, he used to pretend he was more."

Rachel nodded sympathetically, glad she was helping Heather to gain closure. "Considering where his so-called mind is now, your fabulous Ex probably thought he was giving Ashley helpful advice. He doesn’t want her to suffer the same fate as his rejects."

Heather turned her woeful face toward Rachel. "I guess so. But don’t you see how George made it sound as if our only real problem in the marriage was my not being thin enough? Like he didn’t want me any more because of a little cellulite?"

Huh? In that moment, Rachel wasn’t sure which was worse, Rotten George or self-centered Heather, with her tendency to turn every conversation into a commentary on how she looked. How about the trauma to Ashley? How about the fact that her alleged friend, Rachel, was hurting now, too? Given how much pain Rachel was in today, wouldn’t a real friend would have noticed as soon as Rachel opened her mouth? By now, wouldn’t she have asked what was wrong? All Heather noticed was her pain, her sex life, and how much cellulite showed in her mirror.

Quickly Rachel corrected herself. With all her faults, Heather has a good heart. She deserves better in a husband than this immature idiot. Putting her arm around teary-eyed Heather, Rachel steered her over to pick up their water bottles.

Runners Club members left their bottles by a water fountain. Hundreds of bottles were there, everything from double economy-sized bottles of Bubbled Uppers ("Made with a kiss of ginseng," the latest soft-drink craze) to old-fashioned, self-cleaning sippy cups. Locating your particular bottle could take a while. Under the best pf circumstances, Heather had trouble. Tonight? Forget it. Sighing, Rachel picked up her water bottle and offered to share it.

Inwardly she felt less generous than she seemed. Heather might be her best friend, but only by default, a friend of convenience. She wasn’t a peer like Jeremy (even if these days he didn’t give or receive love any better than Heather).

Seminar Slaves like Heather and Rachel had a hard time making friends. Their limited friendship of pretend closeness wasn’t anyone’s fault, merely the best they could manage. Something is better than nothing, as Rachel’s mom, Helene, would say. Undoubtedly Heather found Rachel at least as frustrating deep down—assuming that Heather had a deep down, which was hard to tell.

The self-pitying way Heather sipped at the proffered water bottle pushed Rachel past her limit, however. Since she couldn’t complain, within the rules of the friendship, she speed-walked ahead. When Heather caught up, Rachel was keeping pace with an angry inner refrain: So when is it going to be my turn?

"Thanks for listening, Rachie," Heather said, running up. Gently she dabbed a tissue near her eye make-up. "You’re lucky to be with a good man, a man you can trust."

Heather’s words seemed to hang in the air for a fraction of a second before Rachel said, "I’m beginning to wonder."

"What?" Heather squeaked.

"Jeremy’s having an affair."

"What?" again, higher pitched.

"Seems like it, anyway. He’s been staying late at the office, which he never used to."

"The bug place, right? He studies bugs."

"Yes, he still has that nice secure government job with the good family leave and no mandatory overtime. And normally I suppose there’s nothing so fascinating about his job that he stays late after work. Until lately. Something’s been changing, and I think it’s his new secretary.

Rachel stopped walking. She turned to face Heather. "I’m so scared. If he’s cheating, Brent will be hurt. I’ll be hurt.

"Oh."

"And what if I leave him? Then Brent will be hurt. Jeremy, too—even though he’s acting like a jerk."

"Oh, no."

"So I wonder, should I say nothing and wait? Or should I play tough and force him to give her up? No matter what I do, somebody’s going to get hurt. What would you do, Heather?"

"I don’t know, Rachie."

"Lately every single thing that man does makes me mad," Rachel said, holding back her tears.

The women walked faster now, swinging their arms, getting down to business. From a distance they looked like sisters: equal attractiveness, perfectly matched steps. Both were busty babes. Admittedly that was now standard for American females over the age of 14, when you’d get your starter set of implants if genetics wouldn’t let you make C-cup on your own; then at 21 you’d upgrade to D and beyond.

Both these women, though, had come by their figures the old-fashioned way, which was one of the reasons they bonded as friends. Having grown up conspicuously curvy at a time when this was rare in high school gave both of them status—a memory they clung to, however fleeting. At this time in their lives, neither Heather nor Rachel felt herself busting out with status.

Yet they were beautiful. And staring at them close up, you might have seen a resemblance. Both were members of the Dimple Club. Both had huge eyelids—Heather’s being decorated with a peach-frosted silicon polish that perfectly matched the sparkles on her silicon Glamour Face Makeup—where a sprinkling of sympathy tears was now beading up like water on a windshield.

Rachel’s eyelids bore no make-up, high-tech or otherwise. Her red lipstick might not even show by now, considering that her whole face scrunched into a frown. Aggressive not-crying did that. Her story was muttered in shades of gray: how Rachel hated Jeremy’s new secretary, Sally, right from the first time she heard her syrupy little voice; how a man as handsome as Jeremy always got passes from women; how lately he’d been acting more withdrawn than ever; how yesterday she’d heard him sneak into his den and frantically search through his papers. He must have found what he was looking for because afterwards she heard him slam his briefcase shut.

Was it lingerie receipts? Hotel receipts? Maybe it was entire restaurant menus for future rendezvous.

Heather asked, "How can you be sure he was looking for stuff like that? Your house doesn’t have cameras, does it?

"The sound of shuffling papers isn’t easy to mistake. Even though Jeremy keeps our home intercom off, we still have air vents, you know. All I had to do was put my ear next to the bedroom vent and listen."

"What did you do when things sounded suspicious, keep listening?"

"No way! I marched into his home-office and said, ‘You want me to help you find something? After all, you’re the neat one but I’m the organized one.’"

Heather gave her a look. "Are you sure that was feminine?"

"I said it lightly, like a joke."

"Yeah?"

"You should have seen him jump. The guy looked so guilty."

Heather looked concerned. "Do you blame him? I mean, that reminds me of something I saw on John Gray’s Therapy Show about how we should let our men stay in their caves. Let’s see, when was that? I know, last week, when the Bill Gates heir came on with his wife. You didn’t happen to see that episode, did you?"

"No, Heather."

Volunteer counselors blew whistles to signal the end of the hour. Rachel jumped. "God, that’s so loud," she complained, not that Heather gave any clue of sharing Rachel’s super-sensitive hearing. Sighing, she followed Heather’s lead to the area where parents of eight-year-olds were collecting their kids. Kayla was playing with Brent, throwing pebbles at a tree. Rachel didn’t have much time left, even to be heard on the most superficial level.

Quickly she whispered, "Heather, last night, Jeremy didn’t come home ‘till 10:30. Will the same thing happen tonight? What should I do?"

"You’re asking me, the big expert on saving a marriage? You’re the smart one." She gave a playful smile that popped out her dimples, then grabbed Kayla. "Byeeee. We gotta get Ashley."

Even before Heather and Kayla disappeared into the crowd, Brent walked towards her. He caught her eye, really saw her. What a relief it was to greet him and feel his energy respond to hers.

Having the inner part of a relationship be real is what I crave, Rachel thought, I need that much more than having a person act nice on the surface.

Nevertheless, when Brent compounded his good vibes with a huge smile, that scarcely went unnoticed. Rachel drank it in like a cactus being offered a raindrop.

Driving home in the car, Rachel thought about her sort-of-friend Heather. Some people were wired to experience the inner juice of life. Ones like Heather weren’t, no matter how cleverly they might mimic the signals.

Probably Heather worked as hard at their relationship as Rachel did. Heather knew about Emotional IQ; she’d taken loads of relationship seminars. But she couldn’t hear when Rachel sent out energy signals that went deeper than the mere names for emotions.

One part of Rachel always stayed awake, witnessing the energy signals between people. Heather’s core self seemed to sleep in darkness, aloof as some faraway planet receiving radio waves. Rachel couldn’t even guess what kind of planet Heather would be, when she came alive enough to transmit something back.

Once Rachel had tried to explain to Jeremy how frustrating it was that Heather, like most people she knew, seemed unaware of the flow of energy. The part about feeling people’s signals wasn’t foreign to him. But the need for exchange was—Jeremy being such a deep loner.

Heather needed friendship as much as Rachel did; the problem was, she couldn’t do it with depth. Outwardly gorgeous, inwardly Heather functioned like a doll whose hinged eyelids were glued shut; the spectacle of her beautiful lashes was scant consolation. Rachel kept longing for a doll to play with who would open the eyes beneath her physical eyes and really see.

Giving was Rachel’s favorite part of life. Only it didn’t feel like giving when her husband was incommunicado and Heather, her only close friend, would let all that Rachel gave her slip away, apparently un-received. Brent was the only person Rachel knew right now who accepted her love. It consoled her, being able to give and take with a person who had depth. Still, she had to treat him like a child, not an adult friend. So now, for Brent’s sake, Rachel hid her loneliness. Driving the Honda, she wore a brave mask, though it felt as slickly false as her Revlon 3-D Red Hot Babe lipstick.

Stuck in the traffic jam on Bush Parkway, Rachel felt a wordless song run through her head. It was a song of despair. Her only real adult friend was Jeremy. She’d always assumed that he was better than Heather’s ex, Rotten George. But maybe not.

MEDICAL INTUITIVES are trendy today, but the big healing specialty of tomorrow may be a little different: SKILLED EMPATHS.

A medical intuitive uses psychic-level flashes to bring up information about physical problems, then describe their emotional components. By contrast, a skilled empath uses spiritual experience of higher states of consciousness to experience physical and/or emotional imbalance, describe it, move it through, and heal it.

That’s what I, and other skilled empaths, do in sessions. Yet so few people know about this specialty, their first glimpse may be the healer, John Wilcox, in THE ROAR OF THE HUNTIDS. Read this book and you’ll meet him and his top student, Consuela. (At first an unlikely mentor for Rachel, they're forced to work together; many of their interactions are laugh-out-loud funny.)

Eventually, as you’ll read, Rachel learns to perform miracles of healing. Although you could hardly imagine a more clueless, ambivalent, or reluctant student than poor Rachel, eventually she does become skilled as an empath--nearly in spite of herself.

I hope you’ll enjoy this introduction to the world of empaths as much as I enjoyed writing it. And, if you haven't yet learned to use your own trainable gift as some kind of empath (physical, intellectual, spiritual, emotional, environmental, molecular, etc.), maybe this story will be what inspires you on your way.

Whatever your spiritual gifts--and everyone has many--the world needs your light now. May this novel help give you the courage it takes to let your gifts shine.

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BOOK REVIEW

by Bob Spear

published in Heartland Reviews, May 2002

The Roar of the Huntids is an interesting piece of speculative fiction. Set in the 2020 timeframe, the author projects very plausible outcomes from several technological and social trends. At the same time that a mysterious new insect appears in startling numbers throughout the world, several religious factions begin to make end-times power plays, resulting in one of them taking over the US government. The housewife protagonist, Rachel, is a penultimate fashion judge of everyone around her, yet has an unhappy life. Her government scientist husband’s job requirements are beginning to seem like an extra-curricular affair in the making. Rachel leaves with her son, Brent, to visit in the Seattle area. There they become involved in a group that teaches them how to open up to their full psychic abilities. Rachel discovers she is an empath. She also discovers she and Brent have important roles to play in rapidly approaching world crisis involving the new insects- the Huntids.

BOOK REVIEW

by Lewis Decatur

published in Pathways Magazine 

Maybe it’s Rose Rosetree’s intro that tosses out the first clue:
"Dedicated to those who believe there could be higher praise for a woman than to say, ‘Did you lose weight?’ ’’

If you’re a woman, that’s happened to you -- unless you're thinner than Calista Flockhart. Worse yet, it was meant as a major compliment -- one that’s particularly unfortunate when it’s obvious that you haven’t lost an ounce.

You can open to almost any page in The Roar of the Huntids and find something that kickstarts your brain or your funnybone. It’s pungent, thoughtful, sometimes outrageous, other times much too close to the bone, and full of characters who are worth caring about and who have their own stories.

Rosetree’s first novel is about love, healing, the power of spirituality and the dangers of religious tribalism as Americans fight to win what may be an unwinnable war.

Set just far enough into the future that its satire leaves a sting, it’s a story about the crisis caused by a plague of spooky insects of unknown origin – huntids, as they become known to the spooked humans who encounter them.

When the book opens, Rachel Murphy is a seemingly ordinary housewife and soccer mom. But when her son is infected by the huntids, Rachel’s battle for his life changes hers. As her husband works with the government to destroy the enormous alien plague before time runs out, Rachel becomes, almost against her will, a skilled empath. Together but separately, they try desperately to save us from ourselves.

There are some wonderfully politically incorrect faces here, including President Stevie Tucker, who resembles several recent and current White House residents, and a disturbing number of the national clergy, who spout views that divide instead of unite.

Rosetree has good fun taking on much of America's social and religious establishments and sorting through New Age and traditional spirituality as she explores the chasm between hype and wisdom.

If you’ve ever been curious about auras, past-life regressions, soul retrieval (or, for that matter, what sex between empaths is like), you’ll learn plenty from an author who for more than 30 years has worked as a professional spiritual teacher and healer.

Whether you're a New Ager or a "normal person," whatever that may be, you'll be entertained and surprised by this gripping tale; Rosetree wraps up all the loose ends and leaves readers something to mull over. And, inevitably, it's of special interest to anyone who has ever sensed his or her own psychic gifts.

If you have suspected that you might be an empath -- if you have an innate ability to experience what others undergo – you’ll learn that you are not alone, and that the gift is not always welcome. Rachel’s development as an empath is occasionally hilarious, often heartening and forever unpredictable, and her raging battles with her baser instincts can be hellishly funny.

In an afterword, Rosetree mentions that the book was first written as a teaching story. "About 1 in 20 people has a built-in, significant, trainable gift as an empath," she says. "Still, even in my fictional America of 2020, few people have ever heard of it. Currently, there are almost no skilled empaths in America. Even on TV, a place where, like it or not, many people discover role models, I've found only one empath — Counselor Deanna Troi of Star Trek: The Next Generation -– and she’s in re-runs!"

According to Rosetree, becoming a skilled empath opens up remarkable opportunities for service to others. "The suffering of unskilled empaths can be hard to identify and immensely painful," she says, "but with skill the gift becomes a source of profound joy."

This is a delightful book for people who need more joy in their lives, one that, underneath its humor and well-honed outrage, is full of heart.

BOOK REVIEW

published in The New Times

June 2002 

A science-fiction novel with a spiritual theme, The Roar of the Huntids recounts an empath’s journey of awakening and empowerment. Some readers will recognize their own empathic talents as they navigate this intricate tale. Part humor, part satire, and part suspense, this is a story designed to change people’s lives.

BOOK REVIEW

published in Library Bookwatch

April 2002, Page 6 

Dedicated to “those who believe there could be higher praise for a woman than to say, ‘Did you lose weight?’” The Roar of the Huntids is a superbly written feminist science fiction saga set in the near future of 2020. When strange insects of suspicious origin threaten the survival of the world, a wife and mother suddenly blessed or cursed with empathic powers must take drastic steps for the future of humanity. A dark yet thought-provoking cautionary tale, extraordinarily fascinating from cover to cover.