Lightseekers by Femi Kayode

Lightseeker is a propulsive thriller that combines a who/whydunnit with a thought-provoking social commentary. Set in Nigeria, Lightseeker is predominantly narrated by Dr. Philip Taiwo, an investigative psychologist who has recently returned to Nigeria after having spent years in the United States. A husband and a father of two, Philip struggles to readjust to Nigeria’s sociopolitical climate. When he becomes convinced that his wife is cheating on him, he finds himself giving in to his father’s request to investigate the mob killing of three university students that occurred a few years beforehand. Their deaths were linked to their being members of a confraternity, but one of the victims’ fathers, who is connected to Philip’s own father, is adamant in his belief that his son would never join a cult. Philip takes the opportunity to get away from his marriage troubles and finds himself travelling to a village near Port Harcourt. Here he is aided by his driver and guide Chika, who is employed by the victim’s father, and who seems to have many hidden skills. The two soon pick up on the hostility that locals harbor against outsiders, especially those who are seeking to unearth a recent and tragic occurrence. Not only are the local authorities unwilling to help them, but they seem intent on obstructing their investigation. The locals instead see them as a threat, often refusing to talk to them. The students at the university seem more open to discussing the killing but it is only when the rapport between Philip and the locals worsens, to the point where his well being is at stake, that he begins to understand what occurred.
Not only did the story have a strongly rendered setting but the author was able to incorporate diverse and numerous issues within Philip’s investigation. Religious tensions between the town’s Christian and Muslim communities, class and educational disparities, cultism and herd mentality, politics and corruption, as well as the long-lasting consequences of colonialism. Because Philip is not from this town and has yet to fully readjust to Nigeria, we mostly glimpse and understand things through his ‘naive’ eyes, which makes for an immersive experience. The shifting dynamic between Philip and Chika was compelling and I appreciated the way their bond develops.

Now, on the things that didn’t quite convince me. One, well, it’s a crucial one. Once Philip decides to accept this request to investigate the Okriki Three he never seems to really doubt that their deaths were not ‘simply’ the horrific result of a mob killing. And the thing is, he believes this with no substantial proof. The locals’ unwillingness to discuss it or the police’s general shadiness can be understood as a sign of their guilt over their role in the mob killing. Yet, he ‘knows’ that something else is going on…and I didn’t really buy it. Early on he really had nothing to consolidate this belief and yet throughout the course of the narrative, he operates under that assumption. The narrative also shifts to a different point of view, and these chapters are very brief and intentionally ambiguous…and I found them cheap. I have never been a fan of mysteries that provide us with short, and corny usually, chapters from the ‘bad guy’s’ perspective. That the bad guy in question here is clearly experiencing a severe mental disorder was also…dodgy. True, this time around the person is not a psychopath but their (likely) disorder is still routinely stigmatized in the media and popular culture.

My last issue has to do with the female characters in the novel. On his flight to Port Harcourt Philip just happens to be seated near an attractive girlboss who, quelle surprise, is somehow connected to his case. He seems to entertain the possibility of cheating on his wife because this woman is such a girlboss. Fair enough, I don’t particularly mind reading about characters who behave badly or have bad thoughts. However, the language he uses to describe her and refer to her combined with the story’s running gag (Philip declaring that a happy marriage can be achieved by never contradicting your wife in an argument/discussions because “women be like”…especially ‘nagging’ wives who are often mad about nothing…and the thing is, his wife seems far more reasonable and clear-eyed that he is. She barely has any ‘page-time’, but I wondered why Philip would brag about his ‘tactics’ when the only conflict in his marriage seems a result of him having (recently) seen something that has led him to jump to certain conclusions. I hated that he is not quite ‘proven’ right but that what he had seen had escalated into something to be concerned about. Even more frustrating, she blames herself! Like wtf! Also, how could Philip, an investigative psychologist who is shown to be fairly intuitive, be so ready to believe the worst about his wife? Especially given the fairly banal nature of what he’d seen? The woman who helps Philip in the investigation serves the function of a plot device: adding further tension to the troubled marriage subplot and aiding Philip in his investigation when the story needs it.

While the resolution to the mystery was a bit dragged and not particularly satisfying, I did find the majority of this story gripping and I look forward to whatever the author writes next.

my rating: ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆

Quartet by Jean Rhys

“There she was and there she stayed. Gradually passivity replaced her early adventurousness. She learned, after long and painstaking effort, to talk like a chorus girl, to dress like a chorus girl and to think like a chorus girl – up to a point. Beyond that point she remained apart, lonely, frightened of her loneliness, resenting it passionately. She grew thin. She began to live her hard and monotonous life very mechanically and listlessly.”

An unsparing and piercing interrogation of passivity and victimhood, Quartet is a hypotonic work of fiction. Jean Rhys’ prose is immaculate. Her writing, although exquisitely crisp, has this deeply evocative quality to it that resulted in a truly immersive reading experience. I could picture with ease Marya’s various environments: from the hotel bedrooms she stays in, to the streets she walks down on. I admired Rhys’ ability to articulate Marya’s various states of mind with such clarity and finesse as to lend elegance to even her most petty thoughts. Although the setting has this subtle bygone, almost gilded age quality to it, one that brought to mind the work of Edith Wharton, Rhys also employs noir aesthetics that result in a backdrop that is at once beautiful and disenchanted.
Although the title suggests that the narrative will be concerned with the complex dynamic between four individuals, the story presents us with an all too familiar triangle: a young woman becomes involved with an older married man of means. His wife claims that she is ‘happy’ with this ‘arrangement’. But, as Marya becomes further enmeshed in the lives of the Heidlers, she becomes all too aware that the wife resents her presence. In order not to alienate her husband she pretends otherwise, and Marya finds herself cast in the role of villainess and homewrecker.

The novel opens in Paris during the 1920s. Marya, our heroine, is a young woman married to Stephan, a Polish man whose dodgy art dealings eventually land him in jail. The two were leaving from hotel room to hotel room, and once Stephan is imprisoned Marya finds herself on the verge of destitution. An orphan with no assets to speak of, Marya was wholly dependent on Stephan’s income. A socialite married couple, the Heidlers, come to her ‘rescue’, insisting that she stay with them. Marya does, even if she expresses some uneasiness at this arrangement. Mr Heidler, who goes by H. J., had previously made a pass at her and once she’s staying with them, he declares that he has feelings for her. According to him, his wife, Lois, is content with this. Marya learns that she’s not the ‘first’, and as the weeks go by and her feelings for H. J. deepened, she became wary of the Heidlers’ ‘games’. While Marya doesn’t have today’s vocabulary, contemporary readers will be able to recognise the Heidlers’ ‘tactics’: they manipulate and gaslight Marya. Passive Marya finds herself playing into this role that they’ve thrust on her, doing what they want, and keeping silent about this whole affair. Cleverly, Rhys doesn’t quite paint Marya as a hopeless and hapless victim of her sex and her circumstances. There are numerous instances that indicate that Marya performs this role of ‘victim’. But does her self-victimization make her any less of a victim? Especially when others uphold this view of herself?
While Rhys mines the psychological depths of her heroine, cataloguing her ennui, misery, loneliness, and disorientation, she maintains a certain distance from her characters, Marya included. These characters retain a certain inscrutable quality: some of their actions may strike as bizarre, while their words often are full ambivalence. The characters retain this air of mystery that really complements the shadowy atmosphere of their world: from their soirées to their clandestine encounters in hotel rooms. There were many striking passages describing Marya’s environment. Her internal dialogue too is rendered in arresting detail, and however frustrating her naivete and passivity were I found sympathetic towards her ‘plight’. Her feelings towards H. J. are somewhat inexplicable, as she seems to fall in love with him just like that. While Marya thinks herself in love with him, I thought differently. Her infatuation reeked of desperation, and I too found myself viewing her as a victim of the Heidlers’, specifically H. J., deceptions. Time and again we are told that what Marya craves is happiness and safety, and after Stephan is in prison, she is so desperate that she is willing to believe that those things may come if she becomes H. J.’s ‘mistress’.
The novel also has a roman a la clef dimension as Marya’s embroilment with the Hedlers’ mirrors Rhys’ one with Ford Madox Ford and his wife Stella Bowen . While there were many sentiments that struck me for their presence and timelessness, particularly in relation to Marya’s ‘female malaise’, a few passages stuck out for the wrong reasons. An example would be a scene where Marya observes “a little flat-faced Japanese” drawing “elongated and gracefully perverse little women”…which…le sigh.

Initially, I was planning on giving this a high rating but the bathetic denouement left a lot to be desired. While I can appreciate how certain authors are able to continue their narratives after the central character has ‘exited’ the scenes, here the last few pages struck me as callous and unsatisfying. I would have almost found it more satisfying if Rhys had gone the Madame Bovary or The House of Mirth route, but there is a soap-opera worthy heated confrontation that did not feel particularly satisfying or convincing. While I appreciated how Rhys, similarly to Flaubert and Wharton, is not afraid to focus on how pathetic or silly or petty her characters are, that finale just didn’t do it for me.
Still, I can see myself re-reading this and giving it a higher rating in the future. I am definitely planning on reading more by Rhys as her writing is simply superb and I am always interested in narratives centered on alienated and perpetually perplexed young women.

Marya is a fascinating character who carries an air of impermanence, one that makes her all the more intriguing. Her impermanence also deepens the dreamlike quality of the narrative. There are many instances where her dreams seem to seep into her reality, making us wonder how reliable a character she is. As things take a downward turn, her moments dissociation intensify, her sadness and anxiety so overwhelming as to make her reality unendurable.


Some of my fave passages:

“She began to argue that there was something unreal about most English people.”

“Still, there were moments when she realized that her existence, though delightful, was haphazard. It lacked, as it were, solidity; it lacked the necessary fixed background. A bedroom, balcony and cabinet de toilette in a cheap Montmartre hotel cannot possibly be called a solid background”

“Marya, you must understand, had not been suddenly and ruthlessly transplanted from solid comfort to the hazards of Montmartre. Nothing like that. Truth to say, she was used to a lack of solidity and of fixed backgrounds.”

“[S]he felt a sudden, devastating realization of the essential craziness of existence. She thought again: people are very rum. With all their little arrangements, prisons and drains and things, tucked away where nobody can see.”

“She would have agreed to anything to quieten him and make him happier, and she was still full of the sense of the utter futility of all things.”

“Words thatshe longed to shout, to scream, crowded into her mind:‘You talk and you talk and you don’t understand. Notanything. It’s all false, all second-hand. You say what you’ve read and what other people tell you. You think you’re very brave and sensible, but one flick of pain to yourself and you’d crumple”

“It was a beautiful street. The street of homeless cats, she often thought. She never came into it without seeing several of them, prowling, thin vagabonds, furtive, aloof, but strangely proud. Sympathetic creatures, after all. There was a smell of spring in the air. She felt unhappy, excited, strangely expectant.”

“‘You’re a victim. There’s no endurance in your face. Victims are necessary so that the strong may exercise their will and become more strong. ’ ‘I shall have to go away,’ she decided. ‘Of course. Naturally. ’ Sleep was like falling into a black hole.”

“‘I’ve been wasting my life,’ she thought.‘How have I stood it for so long?’”

“She felt hypnotized as she listened to him, impotent. As she lay in bed she longed for her life with Stephan as one longs for vanished youth. A gay life, a carefree life just wiped off the slate as it were. Gone! A horrible nostalgia, an ache for the past seized her. Nous n’irons plus au bois; Les lauriers sont coupes. . . . Gone, and she was caught in this appalling muddle. Life was like that. Here you are, it said, and then immediately afterwards. Where are you? Her life, at any rate, had always been like that.”

“There they were. And there Marya was; haggard, tor-tured by jealousy, burnt up by longing.”

“Marya thought: ‘Oh, Lord! what a fool I am.’ Her heart felt as if it were being pinched between somebody’s fingers. Cocktails, the ridiculous rabbits on the wallpaper. All the fun and sweetness of life hurt so abominably when it was always just out of your reach. “

“Of course, there they were: inscrutable people, invulnerable people, and she simply hadn’t a chance against them, naive sinner that she was.”

“The Boulevard Arago, like everything else, seemed unreal, fantastic, but also extraordinarily familiar, and she was trying to account for this mysterious impression of familiarity.”

“‘My darling child,’ said Heidler with calmness, ‘your whole point of view and your whole attitude to life is impossible and wrong and you’ve got to change it for everybody’s sake.’ He went on to explain that one had to keep up appearances. That everybody had to. Everybody had for everybody’s sake to keep up appearances. It was everybody’s duty, it was in fact what they were there for. ‘You’ve got to play the game.’”

“She made a great effort to stop it and was able to keep her mind a blank for, say, ten seconds. Then her obsession gripped her, arid, torturing, gigantic, possessing her as utterly as the longing for water possesses someone who is dying of thirst. She had made an utter mess of her love affair, and that was that. She had made an utter mess of her existence. And that was that, too. But of course it wasn’t a love affair. It was a fight. A ruthless, merciless, three-cornered fight. And from the first Marya, as was right and proper, had no chance of victory. For she fought wildly, with tears, with futile rages, with extravagant abandon – all bad weapons. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ she would ask herself. ‘Why are you like this? Why can’t you be clever? Pull yourself together!’ Uselessly.”
​​
“A petite femme. It was, of course, part of his mania for classification. But he did it with such conviction that she, miserable weakling that she was,found herself trying to live up to his idea of her. She lived up to it. And she had her reward. ‘. . . You pretty thing – you pretty, pretty thing. Oh,you darling.”

“As she walked back to the hotel after her meal Marya would have the strange sensation that she was walking under water. The people passing were like the wavering reflections seen in water, the sound of water was in her ears. Or sometimes she would feel sure that her life was a dream – that all life was a dream. ‘It’s a dream,’ she would think; ‘it isn’t real’ – and be strangely comforted. A dream. A dream.”

“But when she tried to argue reasonably with herself it seemed to her that she had forgotten the beginnings of the affair, when she had still reacted and he had reconquered her painstakingly. She never reacted now. She was a thing. Quite dead. Not a kick left in her.”

‘You’ve smashed me up, you two,’ she was saying. That was pitiful because it was so obviously true. It was also in an obscure way rather flattering. She put her hands up to her face and began to cry.

“The next few days passed like a dream. Lovely days, fresh, and washed and clean. And the knowledge that this was the irrevocable end of their life in Paris made every moment vivid, clearly cut and very sweet. Those were strange days, detached from everything that had gone before or would follow after.”

“Heidler was saying in a low voice: ‘I have a horror of you. When I think of you I feel sick.’ He was large, invulnerable, perfectly respectable. Funny to think that she had lain in his arms and shut her eyes because she dared no longer look into his so terribly and wonderfully close. She began to laugh. After all, what did you do when the man you loved said a thing like that? You laughed, obviously.”

My rating: ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆

Monster in the Middle by Tiphanie Yanique

A week or so before reading Monster in the Middle I read Tiphanie Yanique’s debut short story collection, Land of Love and Drowning, which I rather enjoyed. I remember being struck by Yanique ’s atmospheric storytelling, by her subtle use of irony, and by her thoughtful meditations on death, love, and everything in between. So, given that I have been known to have a soft spot for intergenerational dramas/interconnected storylines (The Vanishing Half, Commonwealth, The Travelers) I was fully convinced that I would love Monster in the Middle.
Albeit confusing, the opening chapter intrigued me. But with each subsequent point of view, I become increasingly aware of just how disjointed and directionless this book was.
Monster in the Middle tells the love story between Fly and Stela, he’s American and a musician, she’s a science teacher from the Caribbean. Yanique jazzes things up by making their romance, not the starting point of the novel but the very end goal. The storylines leading to their romance give us a glimpse into their parents’ lives and later on Fly and Stela’s own experiences as teenagers and young adults.

The novel opens with a chapter on Fly’s father. He and a white girl are running away together, or so it seems. She comes from a deeply religious family and he too is religious. Fly’s father also suffers from schizophrenia but at this point in his life, he believes that the voices he hears are from God. A chapter from Fly’s mother follows, and here we don’t really gain much insight into what had happened to Fly’s father or that girl. She tells us a bit of their marriage but in a way that didn’t come across as engaging or particularly realistic. The following chapters are about Fly as a teen and his college experiences. I hated that the author focuses so much on Fly feeling horny and whatnot. He eventually comes across a sex tape starring his father and that girl he was briefly with. This tape becomes a guilt secret, as he is ashamed of being turned on by it. He masturbates a lot, which, good for him I guess but I personally could have also done without those scenes (it reminded me of What’s Mine and Yours, where the sections focusing on the teenage boy character are all about him having boners). Fly’s character in these chapters is reduced to his sexuality.
In college, he gets involved with a really religious girl and this character made no sense whatsoever. I found it corny that she was singing or praying while they were being intimate with each other and that she has such a disconcerting approach to sex (it is implied that she ‘uses’ her body to make people straight…?!). Because of course, she would be like that.

Then we get to know about Stela’s mother. Again, there was something off-putting about the characters and the relationships they formed with each other. Same thing for Stela’s father, who is not her biological father (other than that i can’t recall anything about him). Stela eventually comes to the fore and surprise surprise even if her chapters also hone in on her teen years, she isn’t made into a one-dimensional horny adolescent. She grows up in Saint Thomas and eventually goes to study abroad in Ghana where she is the victim of a sexual assault. Years later she marries this blandish guy and then they both, unbeknown to each other, become involved with the same woman. I absolutely hated this storyline. It feeds into existing cliches about bisexual women and it made no bloody sense. I had a hard time believing that this ‘other’ woman would be so deceitful. Then again, the story implies that she is deceitful by nature as she also lies about her background to them. Anyway, at long last Fly and Stela meet and I felt absolutely nothing. I didn’t feel for either character and found them very much devoid of fleshed-out personalities. They merely served as plot propellers, enabling the author to give us some superficial love stories and some observations on multicultural and/or interracial relationships. These brief glimpses into the mc’s parents lives did not make them into particularly well-developed characters, quite the opposite. They felt a bit all over the place, as some chapters, such as the 1st one, hone in on a very specific episode, while others have a vaguer timeline.
While the story addresses important issues, it did so rather superficially. Towards the end, the narrative includes covid and the BLM movement but it does so in a rather rushed way. I would have liked less focus on the characters’ sex lives and more moments of introspection.

The writing could also be rather off-putting with cringey lines like: “When he put his hand to her there at the center, she pressed herself hard against him, and she was slick. It made him think of candy gone sticky in the sun.”; “his penis hard and curved, her vagina sticky and warm. They presented these things to each other like treasures: “So smooth,” she said to his; “So sweet,” he said to hers.”; “The primary thing in his life was the ocean of this woman’s insides.”.

Additionally, I did not particularly care for the way the author ‘dealt’ with the rape storyline. And we get some problematic lines such as: “Jerome was flirting, she knew, but he was seventeen and she, frankly, was susceptible at twenty-three.” and “Stela looked around and saw an empty easel erect in a corner. She wished she had a dick. She wanted to be inside this bitch of a woman.”.

Overall, I could not bring myself to like this book. This novel lacked the strongly rendered setting of Land of Love and Drowning and, moreover, the author’s style was too florid for me. I couldn’t take a lot of what I was reading seriously.

my rating: ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆


Crazy Rich Asians by Kevin Kwan

Having recently enjoyed reading Kevin Kwan’s A Room With A View re-telling, I was seriously expecting to love Crazy Rich Asians. I went into it hoping for a light-hearted and fun read but was instead met with a snooze-inducing story, a horrid cast of poorly developed characters, and an abundance of crass humor. I grew to hate all of the characters as well as the so-called plot and the tacky dialogues. Whereas I found Sex & Vanity to be a funny comedy of manners, Crazy Rich Asians struck me as garish and grating.
Rachel Chu, our supposed heroine, joins her boyfriend Nicholas Young as he travels to Singapore to be the best man at his best friend’s wedding. Nicholas has not informed Rachel of his family, who happen to be ‘crazy rich’. Because of this Rachel isn’t prepared to contend with his relatives’ opulent lifestyles nor is she expecting to encounter such cut-throat people, whose weapon of choice is malicious gossip. Although Rachel was raised in America her mother is from mainland China. Both of these things make her ‘undesirable’ to the older people in Nicholas’ family. His mother and grandmother in particular are set against her, so much so that they are willing to sabotage their relationship by any means necessary.
I probably wouldn’t have minded the story as much if it had focused on the conflict between Rachel and Nicholas’ mother. But, alas, hundreds of pages are dedicated to Nicholas’ horrid relations: there is Astrid, a spoiled yet self-pitying woman who will spend hundred of thousands on jewellery only to then bemoan how extravagant young people are. Her husband has a huge chip on his shoulder because he feels that her family treats him like a servant. She eventually comes across her first love who materializes from nowhere only to play the role of self-sacrificing cupid and gives Astrid some ‘advice’ on how to salvage her marriage, because he ‘knows’ men. There is Eddie, who is even more spoiled and obnoxious than Astrid. The narrative goes out of its way to paint him as a vulgar idiot who has no redeeming qualities whatsoever. There are plenty of additional characters who seem to share the same personality: they are mean, wasteful, vain, stupid, back-stabbing…the list goes on. I don’t have a problem with unlikeable characters. Some of my favourite novels, such as Madame Bovary or White Ivy, focus on less-than-likeable characters. However, the ones in Crazy Rich Asians are so painfully one-dimensional as to be utterly ridiculous. This slapdash satire is lazy and worst of all, painfully unfunny. All the husbands were dicks in the same way: they are cowards, weak, and possible cheaters. The women were divided into four categories: Rachel, who is Not Like Other Women, in that she uses her brain, she’s intelligent, she has a job, she (allegedly) doesn’t know or care about fashion or money; the ‘not so bad’ rich women such as Astrid and Rachel’s friend whose characters nevertheless revolve around what they wear or the fact that they like to spend money; the nasty set, which includes almost all of the women invited to the wedding, and these ones, well, they are Mean Girls who bully Rachel because they are jealous, and for all their love of fashion they do not possess Rachel’s innate simple yet elegant fashion sense; and the older women, which includes Nicholas’ mother, his aunts, and his grandmother who are also horrible and scheming (but are meant to be more ‘classy’ than the Mean Girls).

The plot goes in a circle forever. We see no meaningful interactions between Nicholas and his family, in fact, he gets less page time than most characters. He is Not Like Other Men in that he doesn’t care about money or status. Puh-lease. I found his denial of his wealth truly off-putting. I get that he was (somehow) the only one to be raised to be modest about the family fortune but the man has lived abroad and on his own, surely he must have gained some sort of perspective when it comes to his family’s wealth. But no! Time and again he denies that his family is rich, and I hated that. It made me want to reach into the page and slap him. This fake modesty is not pretty. I feel a similar type of rage when I think of those celebrities making videos where they say things along the lines ‘we are all in this pandemic together’. Bleargh. Fuck off, really. And Rachel, what a disappointing character. She was bland, painfully so. She never stands up to anyone, which, fair enough, given that maybe she doesn’t want to be disrespectful or aggravate certain situations but I found her passivity infuriating in the long run. Especially when it came to those Mean Girls. She also lacked ‘history’. It seemed that before her name appeared on the page she did not exist. With the exception of that one friend and her bf she has formed no other meaningful relationship…which is saying something given that she’s not a child.
Characters keep saying offensive things and no one really challenges their comments or views. If anything, the story goes to prove them ‘right’. Take the whole Kitty thing for example. At one point one of the female characters says that shopping can solve any problem a woman is having and I wanted to gouge my eyes out. The amount of girl-hate also drove me up the walls. I hate when male authors do this. It is as if they are compelled to write women as ‘catty’ and ‘competitive’ (whereas their male characters aren’t).
The book consists of characters gossiping, bicker, and bitching about one another. He said that she said that they said…etc. The one gay-coded character is portrayed as a snake (kwan, wtf? what is this, downton abbey?). The book exalts the characters’ extravagant lifestyles without anything meaningful to say about it. In fact, it just glorifies the ways of rich people. The constant name-dropping of fashion brands threatened to turn my brain to slush.
Anyway, this book has no redeeming qualities (for me of course). Rachel and Nicholas’ relationship felt like an afterthought almost. I never believed that they cared for each other and I think that Rachel should have not forgiven a man who lied by omission (about his past, his family, etc.). The last act was pure soap-opera. To use a possibly problematic term, that ‘twist’ was demented. Seriously so. That we don’t get any real scenes between Nicholas and his mother or even Rachel and his mother made their whole conflict bathetic.
This was meant to be an entertaining and escapist read but I was certainly not diverted. Maybe if you like shows like Gossip Girl you will find this more rewarding than I did. I, for one, do not care for this mindless glorification of the rich. Their ‘antics’, such as xenophobic, classist, and sexist comments as well as their ostentatious tastes and their constant need to travel by jet (who cares about the global carbon emissions!), are played up for laughs. This kind of mindless and gaudy satire achieves nothing. Bah. Maybe the film is more tolerable but this book is the definition of banal.

my rating: ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆

A Separation by Katie Kitamura

Given its abysmal overall rating, it should not come as a surprise that A Separation is not the type of novel that will/to have a large appeal. While it bears many of the same elements and stylistic qualities as Intimacies, Katie Kitamura’s latest novel which I happen not to like, here, well, they kind of work. Similarly to Intimacies, A Separation is narrated by a nameless and nondescript female character. We never learn anything substantial about their backstories and their personalities remain blank. For some reason, in A Separation, this narrating choice works. Whereas reading Intimacies felt to me like an utter waste of my time, A Separation proved to be a much more thought-provoking novel.

A Separation follows a woman who is separated from her husband, a serial cheater. They have not officialized their separation and not only are they legally still married but his parents still believe they are together. When he goes missing on a research trip in Greece his mother pressures our narrator to go find him. Our narrator, who is now in a new relationship, acquiesces hoping that she will be able to get her husband to agree to a divorce. Once there however she realizes that he has truly vanished. She obverses the staff in the hotel, speculating on the whereabouts of her husband, wondering how and why he has seemingly disappeared, leaving his possessions behind.
I was transfixed by the descriptions of the landscapes and people encountered by our main character. The uneasy scenario our mc is in resulted in a taut atmosphere. Her ambiguous narration proved hypnotic and I felt transported alongside her to this remote region in Greece. While the uncertain nature of her journey and her husband’s unknown whereabouts resulted in a gripping storyline, this was not a fast-paced or plot-driven story. This is a very introspective and reflective work that explores themes of unity and separation, absence and presence, longing and loss, foreignness and belonging, deception and clarity.
I loved the mood of this story. The drawn-out waiting for our mc does may bore some but I found this wait to be enthralling. The tension between her and the other characters (the employees, the husband, her mother-in-law) captivated me. Her piercing narration was particularly rewarding. Not only does she express herself in such an adroit, articulate, and alert way but I found her speculations and observations to be razor-sharp. The author juxtaposes her clarity of vision with her intrinsic vagueness. We learn virtually nothing about her history or who she is. Her crystal-clear narration is in fact rather deceptive as all the while she keeps herself hidden. This ambivalence certainly complemented the precarious atmosphere of her stay in Greece.
While I did find much to be admired in this novel it is not the type of reading that will leave a long-lasting impression on me. It did succeed in making me a fan of this author even if I did not care for her latest novel. I can see why many gave A Separation a low rating. Nothing much happens and for all her navel-gazing the narrator remains a stranger to us. It is the type of novel that at the end may very well make you say “what was the point of all that?”. But, if you are in the right mood for a more muggy exploration of a fractured marriage and the limits of language, that succeeds in being both elusive and incisive, well, look no further. Subtle, erudite, and meditative, A Separation will certainly appeal to fans of psychological fiction.

my rating: ★★★½

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Instructions for Dancing by Nicola Yoon

As per usual I was drawn to a book because I found its cover cute. The novel itself has plenty of cute moments, however, various elements prevented me from truly appreciating it.

Before her parents’ separation 17-year-old Evie Thomas was a lover of romance and a believer in happy-ever-afters. When she becomes aware that her dad not only cheated on her mum but left them to be with the ‘other woman’, well, she’s pretty shaken up by it. A newly disillusioned Evie decides to make the very dramatic gesture of getting rid of all of her romance books (i mean, really?). After dropping them off at a ‘little free library’ a mysterious old lady seemingly appears from nowhere and encourages her to take a book titled Instructions for Dancing, a book about ballroom dancing. From then on Evie has the ability to see how peoples’ romances begun and how they will end. They just have to kiss in front of her and wham she gets a That’s So Raven vision that shows her a fast-forwarded version of the couple’s relationship, from their first meeting to their breakup/separation. Her new gift seems to confirm that, as she feared, in real life love always ends in heartbreak (lil’ bit ridiculous, i know…).
She eventually returns the manual for dancing to La Brea Dance. Once at this dance studio she just happens to come face-to-face with the kind of heartthrob guy who is very much the real-life embodiment of the LI in a romance (“For a second, I feel like I’m a character in one of my old romance books. Raising a single eyebrow is such a Classic Romance Guy Characteristic.”). The guy, X, and Evie end up competing as a pair for a dance competition in the Amateur Under 21 category with the intention of promoting the studio.
As you can imagine, in spite of Evie vowing that she’s done with love and romance and would certainly not fall for X because “Tall, hipster-hot and in a band? I mean, he’s the definition of a heartbreaker, right?”, the more they practice together, the closer they get.
The story focuses on their romance and on Evie’s feeling conflicted about love and romance. While the angst is at times outweighed by the sweeter moments, overall, I could have done with the elements of melodrama (between evie & x, between evie & her ‘friends’, between evie & her dad). I do feel bad for not being able to write a more positive review but I’m afraid that honesty always wins out in my reviews so I will be detailing all of the reasons why I was unable to like this novel. If this book happens to be on your radar or on your TBR pile I recommend you check out some more positive reviews.
Here are a few of the things that dampened my enjoyment of this book, SPOILERS BELOW:

The Magical Element
What was that all about?! At times the story seems to forget all about Evie’s ability to see how other peoples’ romantic relationships start and end. These glimpses into a couple’s story give us very incomplete visions of their relationship (let alone who they are). The visions were jarring, something that stood out against an otherwise realistic & contemporary YA backdrop. Maybe had they remained one of the main preoccupations of the narrative they would have not felt so out of place but as I said mentions and scenes featuring Evie’s power remained very inconsistent. There’s a lot about them in the first few chapters where Evie is immediately able to establish that her visions are real. And that they only serve as a way to add more angst to her character. You see, now she has proof that love is fake and true romance doesn’t exist. It just so happens that, except for one couple towards the end, all of the couples she has visions of break up/separate.

Storyline
This ties to the 1st point. I would have liked the storyline to be more consistent. At first, we get a lot about her visions and her ‘i don’t believe in love anymore’ act, before switching to the dancing side of things, before honing in on her romance with X and her arguing with her friends. Personally, I would have liked more family dynamics. She hates her dad because he cheated on her mom, which is fair enough, but that this made her go through such a dramatic ‘i’m getting rid of all of my romance books/love doesn’t exist/in case you didn’t notice i’m a cynic now’, well, I just a hard time putting up with the same information being repeated over and over again. We get it, she feels betrayed by her dad (even if one could argue that, given that she’s nearly 18 and about to leave for college, she should not feel so involved in her parents’ relationship with each other…they are individuals of their own). She spends most of the novel dissing her dad and acting like he’s a monster before arriving at the classic plot-point where she tries to understand his perspective etc. Like, why did she have to be so immature? Her character development was predictable and her relationship with her parents would have benefited from more page-time. Her sister too! They were at one point close and yet for extended periods in the novel the sister is very much forgotten.
Speaking of family dynamics I would have loved to see more of x and his own family (as opposed to him mentioning a call or two from his dad). His grandparents (as far as i can recall) own the dance studio where they are training at and yet we don’t learn too much about their relationship with one another.
The point is that to me, the story meandered too much and had one too many unnecessary ingredients that ended up ruining the final product. We have Evie angst-ing over her parents’ break up and her dad cheating, we have the little library and the visions, we have the dancing sessions, we have her romance with X, we have the fights with her friends, we have miscommunication and reconciliation, and then, in a very soap-opera-ish move, bam, a tragic, but ultimately entirely forced bittersweet ending that teaches Evie a valuable life lesson (that just because something comes to an end does not make what came before worthless or any less meaningful). It all felt vaguely calculated and moralistic while at the same time, we get sudden changes in the storyline direction that amount to a less than cohesive story.

Evie
While not wholly unsympathetic, I found her selfish and immature to the point where I wanted to finish the book so I could get out of her head.
Supposedly 17, Evie is as emotionally mature as a 10-year-old. So, she caught her dad cheating and is traumatised, and begins acting like he’s some heinous human being and seems to believe that her mom owes her an explanation on why their marriage ended like this. Evie refuses to talk to him and acts like a brat. Her newfound attitude towards love and romance contributed to my impression of her being far too childish for her actual age. I would expect this over-the-top behaviour from a Disney movie, not a contemporary YA novel that is so clearly striving for depth and, visions aside, realism.
Her visions confirm her love ends in tears stance (i mean, at one point she throws at us the following: “Heartbreak = love + time”…which is something i could have written in one of my angsty poetry phases i went through aged 13 or so). Her dad betrayed her mom so it makes for her to seemingly overnight dismiss the notion of love/romance. I disliked how intrusive she was when it came to her parents’ relationship but I actively hated her behaviour towards two of her friends (one of whom is the nasty-type-friend, usually white and rich, that is all the rage in contemporary YA). They become a couple during the course of the novel (their personalities remain very much one-dimensional and their romance is rushed indeed) and Evie sees them kissing so of course she gets a vision that ends with them breaking up. She decides that they shouldn’t date because their eventual breakup will break their friendship group…so what does she decide to do? She refuses to see them! She isn’t all that concerned for them and their relationship, no, what worries is how their romance affects her. Selfish much? And the narrative goes on to prove that Evie was right and that of course, their failed romance ends up ‘breaking up’ their clique (really?).
It was just so frustrating to read her constant whining about her dad or making childish statements on how love ends in heartbreak yadda yadda. Why was it so hard for her to realise that yes, over the course of your life you will likely be with multiple people (as opposed to having only one ‘true love’)
And then her romance with X…yeah. At first, I found their interactions cute and understood to some extent why Evie was somewhat hesitant to admit her feelings towards him (after all, didn’t she swear off love?). But then, his presence in the novel amounts to serving as a plot device. He exists to teach Evie that it’s okay to fall in love and that even if said love ends with heartbreak that doesn’t change what came beforehand. What irked me the most is how his death is utilised by the narrative as the final step in Evie’s ‘learning to trust/love again’ arc. It wasn’t believable, it was clichéd and predictable from those rounds of questions earlier on in the story (where evie & co + X asks each other supposedly ‘philosophical’ questions that amount to: would you want to know when you are going to die or is true love real?). His death enables Evie to ‘grow’ as a character. That her reaction to learning of his approaching death is that of ghosting him…shit. Evie, sei una vera stronza. But it’s all good cause someone comes and tells her that she should not always be focusing on the end of things and think about the memories you make along the way (cheesy af). She apparently spends the next few months with him knowing that he will die but not telling him because earlier on he said that in a what-if scenario he would not want to know when he’s going to die….I mean really? She doesn’t even tell him to go to the doctor?

And they are meant to be teenagers?
The teenagers in this novel were so unbelievable. Their banter, as well as the ideas and opinions they express, were so vanilla. As I said earlier, with the exception of one or two lines here and there, these teens would have been better suited to a Disney movie. I guess they will appeal to fans of Netflix’s teen romance/drama/coming-of-age movie. The novel’s message too felt more in line with those kind of movies.

Self-Aware Romance (?)
Because Evie is a romance connoisseur she often lists tropes of the genre of says things on the lines of ‘it feels like i’m in one my old romance books’ or ‘he’s behaving like the LI in a romance’…yet, despite this supposed self-awareness the novel still implements many tired clichès and plot points.

The Dance Angle + Fifi
I liked the dancing sessions but after the halfway mark the dancing aspect of the novel seems largely sidelined in favour of angst between characters. Which, in my mind, is a pity. I would have preferred the novel to be more about dancing (esp. given that title + cover).
Fifi is X and Evie’s instructor and boy-oh-boy isn’t she a walking caricature. I struggle to understand why American authors (i’m looking at you casey mcquiston) write Eastern European characters this way. Not only do they have a thick accent but they have a funny way of expressing themselves and say borderline offensive/inappropriate things but it’s all good because accent + foreign = lol.

All in all, while now and again there were moments or exchanges that I found sweet (mostly between the main couple or evie and her bff martin), on the whole, I did not ‘vibe’ with it. I’m sure many others will love it and the points above are merely expressing my very subjective impressions of said book. Maybe the novel’s target demographic will have a more positive experience with it than I did.

my rating: ★★★☆☆

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The Human Zoo by Sabina Murray

The Human Zoo will appeal to readers who prefer their books to focus on setting and social commentary more than say plot or character development. Sabina Murray writes with confidence and at first, I found myself quite immersed in her storytelling. The novel is narrated by Tin, a Filipino-American journalist whose marriage is close to collapse. Ting travels to Manila, both to escape her current predicament and to research Timicheg, an Igorot man who in the early 20th century was displayed in one of the last ‘human zoos’ in America. Since her last visit Procopio Gumboc has become the country’s president and his rule is bloody indeed.

Ting returns to her family home where she easily slips back into a comfortable existence with the house staff taking care of her every need and with evenings spent with other socialites. Ting is reunited with her close friends and her former lover Chet, a rich businessman now married to someone else and with ties to Gumboc’s regime.
Ting is also meant to keep an eye on Laird, the American fiance of one of her cousin’s. But when Laird begins showing up at every event and family occasion Ting attends and asking a lot of questions. Ting grows suspicious of Laird and, when he seemingly vanishes, fears the worst.
This novel is certainly informative. Through Ting’s narration, we learn about the Philippines’ history, its fraught political past and present, as well as its contemporary class dynamics. While we do witness just how oppressing its regime is, we also hear the perspective of those who regard it as the lesser evil or even as a solution to the issues affecting their society. Ting is very much opposed and critical of Gumboc’s rein, but not many are willing to listen to her concerns.
Towards the end, the story changes track slightly, in a way that wasn’t entirely seamless. I found some of the events that happen to be rushed and not entirely credible. I also found myself growing bored by how exposition-heavy the narrative was. Ting tells us all of these things about her country and its history and its present but, personally, I would have preferred to have less telling and more showing.

The characters themselves never truly feel like actual people. Ting is a vehicle through which the Philippines can be ‘explained’ to, I’ll hazard, a predominantly non-Filipino audience and she lacked both history and motivations. Her relationship with the characters around them was similarly satisfying and seemed to exist only in order to illustrate a certain type of person who is part of Manila’s upper crust. Her romance with Chet, for instance, was flat and strangely artificial.
I wanted more of Ting’s family and more of her actual research on Timicheg, and less about Gumboc, Laird, or Chet.

Lastly, I found it weird that Ting kept describing Inchoy, her friend, as being gay when he seems to be in a loving relationship with a transwoman. Inchoy, as far as I recall, does not describe himself as lgbtq+. He’s a cis man who is in love with a woman. Yet, because the woman he is in love with is trans Ting claims more than once that he’s gay.

While this novel certainly paints a detailed picture of contemporary Manila, in particular the lifestyle of the upper classes, it failed to leave a strong impression on me. In-depth examination and discussion of politics aside, The Human Zoo doesn’t have much to offer. Ting is a blank page of a protagonist and so are the characters around her. The story ambles on in a fairly predictable and uneventful fashion, but it lacked direction and urgency.
If you are interested in reading this novel I recommend you check out more positive reviews.

my rating: ★★★☆☆

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Wahala by Nikki May

The cover and premise for Wahala made me think that this novel would be a beach thriller, something in the realms of Liane Moriarty. While the unfolding drama between a trio of ‘friends’ was fairly amusing to read of, Wahala wasn’t quite the suspenseful domestic thriller I’d hoped it to be. Still, this was, for the most part, an entertaining read and Ronke alone kept me turning pages.

Set in London, Wahala is centred around three mixed-race friends, Ronke, Simi, Boo. They met in Bristol and their shared experiences drew them together. Over the years they have all embarked on different paths but they remain close friends, eating out together or meeting up to vent about their partners or lives. Ronke, a dentist, doesn’t have the greatest dating history but she hopes that her current boyfriend, Kayode, is ‘the one’. Simi, married to Martin who lives and works in New York, is tired of putting up with her boss’ microaggressions. Boo is growingly dissatisfied with her life as a stay-at-home mum. She begins to resent her husband, Didier, and even her four-year-old daughter.
And then Isobel arrives. She’s hideously wealthy and an old acquaintance of Simi. Soon enough she inserts herself in the group, spoiling them with expensive gifts and seems more than willing to let them vent about their lives. While Boo falls completely under Isobel’s wing, and Simi too, finds herself confiding her secrets to her, Ronke remains suspicious of her motivations.

Each chapter switches between Ronke, Simi, Boo, so that we get to see their perspectives equally. We also begin to sense that Isobel is up to no good as she seems intent on stirring trouble, and soon enough cracks begin to form in the bond between Ronke, Simi, and Boo.

I liked the author’s sense of humor as well as her commentary on race, marriage, motherhood as well as her insights into Nigerian culture (her descriptions of Nigerian food are chief’s kiss).
Ronke, Simi, and Boo have very different personalities and, while they do share many similar experiences, backstories. Boo, for example, grew up not knowing her Nigerian father and because of this seems to distrust Black men like Kayode (her friends do call her out on this). Ronke, on the other hand, loved her father, who passed away when she was young and does not see herself dating a man who isn’t Black. Simi doesn’t want children, Ronke wants to start a family, and Boo has a child she seems to hate.

There were things that prevented me from truly loving this book. For one, the story could have benefited from an extra dose of suspense as the ‘thriller’ aspect comes into play at the very end. The narrative seems mostly driven by the miscommunication between the various characters (couples & friends alike) and after a while it became repetitive.
I also hated, and I mean it, Boo and Simi. They were awful, to their partners and Ronke. Ronke, who was honest, kind, funny, I loved. But seeing her remain friends with these two horrible people…? Why would she do this to herself?
Boo’s chapters were a chore to get through. She complains constantly about her husband and daughter, both of whom are actually far more likeable than she is. She’s also really stupid in that she jumps to idiotic conclusions without using any common sense.
Simi was more of a cypher and I did not feel particularly sympathetic towards her.
Isobel was very hard to believe in. Those ‘twists’ towards the end managed to be both predictable and totally OTT. Isobel seemed just to exist as the bad guy and maybe I would have found her more credible had she had her own chapters.
All in all, while Wahala is not exactly a riveting read, it was for the most part an amusing read that doesn’t take itself too seriously (the author pokes fun at her characters’ histrionics). I do think that Ronke deserved better and that Simi and Boo had it too easy…

my rating: ★★★☆☆

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Lizard by Banana Yoshimoto

I have noticed that when I review a novel or novella Yoshimoto I always describe them as being ‘quintessentially’ Yoshimoto. The reason why is that every time I read something by her, I know, without a doubt, that what I am reading is indeed a work of Yoshimoto. Her breezy style and her slice of life storytelling are certainly idiosyncratic. Her narrators do tend to sound very similar to each other—they can be surprisingly cheerful, prone to navel-gazing, and tend to view their surroundings through dream tinted glasses—yet they never fail to capture my attention. Regardless of whether I find what they are saying to be rather banal or baffling, their commentary is often amusing and I enjoy seeing the world through their eyes.

Lizard comprises six short stories, each following a different, yet indelibly Yoshimoto-esque, character. In ‘Newlywed’ a recently married man finds himself not wanting to go home so he stays on the train instead of getting off at his stop. He’s then drawn into a peculiar conversation with an elderly man, who our narrator presumes to be homeless. The man’s ‘ordinary’ appearance belie his true nature, and what follows is a peculiar, and rather surreal, conversation about nothing in particular that nevertheless leaves its mark on our protagonist. In ‘Lizard’ a 29-year-old man is drawn to a woman with the tattoo of a lizard. They both have lived through some extremely traumatic experiences and find kinship in each other (i will say that their ‘pasts’ did seem a wee bit ott). The following story, ‘Helix’, I did not entirely understand. It seems to have no discernible story but two characters who talk about memories (maybe?). In ‘Dreaming of Kimchee’ a woman is having an affair with a married man. When he leaves his wife for her she worries that the maxim ‘Once a Cheater, Always a Cheater?’ will prove correct. ‘Blood and Water’ follows a young woman whose parents belong to a cult. She runs away to Tokyo and begins working in a design studio. In the last story, ‘A Strange Tale from Down by the River’, a woman who used to lead quite an active sexual life decides to leave this lifestyle behind once she falls ill. She then begins a relationship with a man who knows nothing about her ‘past’ and becomes worried that he may not want to be with her once he knows of her orgy-filled days.
Written in Yoshimoto’s usual spare yet vibrant prose, these stories repeatedly blur the line between reality and fantasy. Although many of the interactions and discussions that occur within this collection are grounded in realism they are permeated by a subtle sense of the surreal. I did not much care for ‘Lizard’ or ‘Blood and Water’ and ‘Helix’ left no real impression on me but I did enjoy ‘Newlywed’ and ‘Dreaming of Kimchee’. My favourite was probably ‘A Strange Tale from Down by the River’. All in all, I would mostly recommend this collection to readers who are already familiar with Yoshimoto’s work. Her style and brand of quietly weird stories aren’t for everybody. I, for one, find her storytelling oddly comforting and will probably end up making my way through her oeuvre.

my rating: ★★★☆☆

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What’s Mine and Yours by Naima Coster

Riding the coattails of Little Fires Everywhere and The Vanishing Half, What’s Mine and Yours not only tells a blow-by-blow predictable tale but one that failed to entertain or elicit any feeling other than frustration in this particular reader. What’s Mine and Yours, ya basic.

To call the writing in this novel ‘prose’ seems misleading as this is some of the most lifeless writing that I have ever come across. That is not to say that it is bad or terrible but dio mio, does it lack heart (if someone had told me that this book was written by an ai i would have believed them). Anyway, as you might have already guessed, I did not like this book. In fact, it really really really irritated me. The only reason why I persevered was that I listened to the audiobook which is superbly narrated by the one and only Bahni Turpin (had it not been for her i would have dnfed this).

As with any other of my negative reviews, I encourage those who want to read this book to check out some more positive opinions. Do keep in mind that the summary is extremely misleading. The school integration is not the focus of the novel, merely a plot device to further the drama between the characters and create some tension for our star-crossed lovers.

SPOILERS BELOW

Positives
✓The opening chapter. It has the most fleshed-out character in the whole novel who for reasons does not make a single appearance after that.

Negatives
✕ Story & Structure
This novel gives a halfhearted attempt at a non-linear/multiple perspectives kind of narrative but unlike The Travellers it clearly favours certain povs and timelines over others. So while the summary will have you think that the story pivots around in particular on the school integration, well it does not. The chapters set in 2018, years after the integration has taken place, are the real focus of this novel, and jeez, how dull they were. There present readers with some dull family drama, three cardboard cut sisters (the gay one, the wannabe celebrity one, and the one who is having marriage problems and wants children). There is an attempt to make a character’s identity into a big reveal but it was obvious who they were from the very start. So, structure-wise, this novel sucks. Why implement multiperspectives’ if you are mainly sticking with two characters? The non-linear timeline adds nothing to the story, as it fails to build suspense or give a sense of mystery to certain events. The story attempts to touch upon topical & serious issues but it ultimately fails to deliver a substantial exploration of race, class, identity, and motherhood, opting instead for a very superficial social commentary that is chock full of platitudes.

✕ Characters
The characters were either lazy caricatures or reduced to one single characteristic. While I was reading I asked someone what they envisioned when I said ‘Lacey May’ and they made a face. And that’s basically it. Lacey May is the kind of character you are not meant to like. Fair enough, as I am more than able to enjoy books with dislikable characters….as long as they are given some nuance or depth. Lacey May…is portrayed as a shrill, bigoted, ‘i’m not a racist but’, self-centred white woman who is so OTT she gave me a bloody headache. Do people like her exist? Probably yes. Do I want to read pages and pages from her perspective that kind of try to humanise her but not really? No. Fuck no. How about no fucking thanks. I found Noelle to be just as unsympathetic (so you have a deadbeat father, boohoo, join the club). She has no real personality and is mainly defined by the fact that she is Lacey May’s daughter. Gee, who is Black and one of the students who ends up at Noelle’s mostly white fancy high school, is very much sidelined in favour of drama between Noelle and her mother.

✕ Sex scenes
There was an odd amount of sex scenes that…why? They were either incredibly cheesy or just plain wtf: “He was still her husband, she his wife. They moved together for a short time. It was all liquid and soft muscle, a warm mess. ” Give me a break. We even get a scene in which Gee is masturbating and…what did that add to his story? The guy already doesn’t get enough page time and you are wasting what little he has on a scene where he masturbates? Because of course, that’s what teen boys do!

✕ Low-key problematic
I am so sick of stories that punish characters who have abortions. Here that character later in life has a miscarriage and wants children but can’t have them. She eventually does have a child but with another man and after a period of cheesy self-reflection in which she confronts the ‘ghosts’ from her past.
I was also not a fan of the gay rep in this book. It had a vague hint of ‘the token gay’.

This is the book equivalent of a soap opera. It was full of clichés (married man goes to france eats croissants and has an affair with a younger woman), unnecessary melodrama involving Lacey May and her daughters, and it felt vaguely moralistic (especially the way the abortion/miscarriage were handled). The uber generic writing, as previously mentioned, was not to my taste.
This is the kind of novel that seems to have been ‘made’ with book clubs in mind. So, if you are a fan of Jojo Moyes and Kristin Hannah, chances are you’ll like it more than I did.

my rating: ★★☆☆☆


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