Ann Patchett does it again. Other Patchett books I’ve enjoyed: Bel Canto and the Dutch House. I always read Patchett in conversation with Elizabeth Strout, whose Burgess Boys was what attracted me to reading more books that were literary thrillers (if you can call this book that).
I got so invested in this one. It felt like being the weird cousin hanging out with family. This book struggled with plot and felt the urge for a neat finish, though I honestly liked the bit at the end about Holly. That felt like a great place to end.
The mystery was always there throughout, and we kind of knew in our hearts what happened, but it was still so cruel and devastating. You had to see it unfold with your hands covering your eyes. I can’t really say much more than that without spoiling the book, but wow. Beware all mothers that love their children.
What I appreciate about Patchett is how she writes a book with full imagination, guns blazing. She doesn’t hold back and she crafts a story like what I suppose a bard or a town record keeper would–with great care, and detail, and she doesn’t always take herself so seriously. There are moments of lighthearted fun throughout that gives the reader the articulate space to breathe.
So much more Patchett to enjoy in my lifetime.