I cannot figure out why I wanted to read this. It's exactly the kind of book that generally irritates me (recap: "modern" fiction, complete with smartphones, texts, and potheads), yet had been on my reading list for ages so, naturally, when it was available from the library... Big mistake. (In my defense: maybe I was hoping for another Ove?)
According to Amazon, Ann Leary's The Children is "the captivating story of a wealthy, but unconventional New England
family, told from the perspective of a reclusive 29-year-old who has a
secret (and famous) life on the Internet." Wealthy? Yes. Unconventional? Yes. Reclusive protagonist? Yes. Captivating? I'm not so sure. Essentially, it's the story of what happens when Spin Whitman brings his new fiancee to the family home for the summer.
Go ahead and call me lazy, but I'm going to crib from Amazon again, which ends its review thus: "With remarkable wit and insight, Ann Leary pulls back the curtain on one
blended family, as they are forced to grapple with the assets and
liabilities – both material and psychological – left behind by their
wonderfully flawed patriarch." And so we have yet another difference of opinion. I found neither wit nor insight, and drew very little in the way of conclusions about the "flawed patriarch." I found plenty to dislike in his two step-daughters, his sons, his wife, and pretty much everyone else, but came away with little opinion of the supposed central character himself.
I'm going to give it one-and-a-half stars, but I'm also going to give it the benefit of the doubt because, as I said at the beginning, this type of fiction just isn't for me.
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