Like in Girls in White Dresses, Close’s style of writing is heavy on description and anecdote and light on plot. Not too much happens in The Smart One beyond the summary I included above. The whole book takes place over a 12-month period and there are only about two or three notable things that happen to each person. The richness of The Smart One lies instead in the details Close uses to flesh these characters out. I loved the little flashbacks and anecdotes that made me feel like I knew this family (particularly the women) so well. Someone on Goodreads described Close’s style as “simple and effortless”. I totally agree.  The book reminded me of the endless hours I used to spend on the phone with my close friends, dissecting and analyzing other people’s lives. I miss those conversations – I don’t have those hours to spend these days (and does anyone use the phone anymore?). The Smart One was like a whole book full of them.

I suspect that The Smart One isn’t for everyone. It is definitely full of #FirstWorldProblems, and Claire and Martha in particular can be frustrating in their passivity and self-pity. This family is not out saving the world, and they aren’t even particularly nice to each other much of the time. But I thoroughly enjoyed this book, and looked forward to each brush stroke that brought Close’s characters into closer relief. The Smart One is like an Impressionist painting – each individual square inch may feel sketchy and incomplete, but taken as a whole it forms a lasting picture.

One little quibble (because of course I have one little quibble) – the title. The Smart One refers to Weezy, in relation to her sister Maureen (who, it turns out, is also pretty smart). This book doesn’t ultimately revolve around Weezy, nor does it particularly revolve around Weezy’s relationship with Maureen. I wonder if Close picked the title out when she thought the book might be going in another direction. It was a little disorienting; I kept having to remind myself who “the smart one” was, and then shifting gears again to get back to the kids. Of course titles aren’t that important, but like covers, they do contribute to the overall gestalt of a book, and this one didn’t seem to fit.

The eight characters are two families: Angela and Dominic and their three children – Daisy, Alex and Benji – and Angela’s brother Richard and his wife Louisa and her daughter Melissa. Angela and Richard are estranged, but he reaches out to her a year after their mother’s death and invites her family to go on vacation with him in Wales. Angela and Dominic agree to go, even though they don’t want to be with Richard, because they can’t afford a vacation on their own.

The Red House takes place during the two weeks that the two families share the rental home in Wales. During that period, like most family vacations, there are confrontations, retreats, connections, realizations, and allegiances that shift and fade. Angela, mourning the death of her infant daughter eighteen years earlier, descends into hallucinations and depression, when she isn’t simmering with anger at her brother for not helping care for their sick mother. Daisy comes to terms with her sexual orientation, while Alex learns disturbing news about his father and flirts with his uncle’s wife. Richard tests his physical and emotional limits, while Melissa basically just glowers and acts entitled.

What makes The Red House unique is Haddon’s writing style, so different from his linear, childlike storytelling in The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time. Here, points of view change even within paragraphs. Some sections are just lists, such as the variety of items sold in a souvenir shop the family visits on the trip, or the descriptions of figures captured in snapshots framed on the walls of the house. It can be difficult at times to figure out who is thinking, or even talking, due to the frequent perspective shifts.  Ultimately, this made it hard for me to maintain interest in the book. When I didn’t know who was being discussed, I just sort of skimmed along until I figured it out, which I found pretty distracting.

Ultimately, The Red House was sort of boring. Not much happens, and the relationships Haddon explores don’t really evolve that much. I found that I just didn’t care that much about what happened, and wasn’t particularly eager to return to the book. I listened to this one mostly on audio, which was even more challenging, given that there was only one narrator. It was especially hard to know who was talking without the visual cues of paragraph breaks and quotation marks. The audio narration was fine; it was just a difficult script to read from.

The Red House was just OK for me. If you like the idea of the stream of consciousness “prosetry” I’ve described, you may enjoy it. For me, it wasn’t my favorite.

For those of you who haven’t heard of this Newbery Award winner, The Westing Game opens on a cold fall day in Milwaukee, WI. Sixteen people have been hand-picked to move into a luxury apartment building next to an old, abandoned estate owned by a paper company magnate, Sam Westing. They are called to the mansion for the reading of the Westing’s will, as he has recently died. The will lays forth the rules of a game that these sixteen heirs are to play: teams of two are each given five clues, and are expected to use those clues to figure out the answer. But what is the answer – who murdered Samuel Westing? Or is there another mystery for them to uncover? Westing’s estate is on the line, but no one really knows how to inherit it.

The story takes a number of twists and turns, mostly centering around the odd pairings of the teams and the secrets that several of them are hiding. When a series of homemade bombs start going off in the apartment building, rattling everyone, the stakes get higher and the group more suspicious of each other. Will they work together to pool their clues and find out what the eccentric old man meant? Ultimately, the mystery is solved, but the answers aren’t what anyone expects – and the “winner” remains a secret.

I really enjoyed reading The Westing Game again. There were a lot of things that I thought I understood as a kid, but that in retrospect I never truly did, even after my many, many readings of the book. There are also loose ends and some really implausible plot points that are still pretty nebulous reading it now. But it’s a really fun book, and the characters are truly memorable. Now that I’ve finished it, I will sit down with my daughters and see how much they understood. Judging by the conversations I overhead between them when they were reading it, I think they got quite a bit of it.

The book is definitely dated: one character’s late daughter is described as “retarded” and “Mongoloid”; another character’s family was unhappy that she had married a Jew; one young woman drops out of college after a year to get married; and one character, a federal judge, wears an African printed robe to a party and someone comments on her looking “ethnic”. The bombings are relatively innocent in the book – a far cry from today’s headlines, but unsettling nonetheless. But considering I first read this in the late 70s, it has held up pretty well.

I would recommend The Westing Game for pretty advanced grade school readers, given the complexity of the plot and the fact that not everything gets wrapped up that neatly. There are some deaths in the end (which takes place many years after the actual Westing game), which are sad. But overall, The Westing Game is a ton of fun and one of the best books I read as a kid.

Weezy Coffey’s parents had always told her she was the smart one, while her sister was the pretty one. “Maureen will marry well,” their mother said, but instead it was Weezy who married well, to a kind man and good father. Weezy often wonders if she did this on purpose—thwarting expectations just to prove her parents wrong.

But now that Weezy’s own children are adults, they haven’t exactly been meeting her expectations either. Her oldest child, Martha, is thirty and living in her childhood bedroom after a spectacular career flameout. Martha now works at J.Crew, folding pants with whales embroidered on them and complaining bitterly about it. Weezy’s middle child, Claire, has broken up with her fiancé, canceled her wedding, and locked herself in her New York apartment—leaving Weezy to deal with the caterer and florist. And her youngest, Max, is dating a college classmate named Cleo, a girl so beautiful and confident she wears her swimsuit to family dinner, leaving other members of the Coffey household blushing and stammering into their plates.

Here is what Close said at the Q&A:

Q: Are your characters based on people you know?

JC: People will always think that. The answer is: not really. There is a little of me in Martha and in her mother too – they are both worrisome people, and I tend to worry a lot. I tend to take traits and heighten them in my characters. I don’t have a sister, but I found it fun to write about a sister relationship in The Smart One. My characters are never based solely on one person, but things to tend to creep in.

Q: How did you decide which characters in The Smart One would have the story told from their perspective?

JC: Claire was easy. And then once I included a conversation about Clarie and Martha, I had to give Martha’s perspective. The Smart One is about the roles played in a family, how they never really go away. Thus, I needed to give the mom’s perspective too. Cleo is outside the family, so she sees them objectively. She’s a fresh voice.

Q: What does The Smart One say about parenting

JC: There are no big, bold statements. I wrote it in Spring 2009; the magazine I was working for folded, and a lot of people I knew had lost their jobs. People were moving home. I took that in, and wrote about it. Where do people go when they have no job or income? This hadn’t happened in generations before like it does now. Parents don’t stop being parents – here, Weezy is controlling, and stays that way. We are all staying children longer.

Q: How has your writing style evolved from book #1 to book #2, and through teaching?

JC: Teaching reminds me why I love writing so much. I love being edited, because sometimes I just stop being able to see my words. I am not sure if my style has evolved; my voice seems the same it was in book #1. Chatty.

Q: Talk about your retail experience at Politics & Prose Did your background at various jobs influence your work?

JC: Every job has helped in its own way. Writing at a magazine helped with my editing. At P&P, I used to talk about books, and get excited about them like I did when I was younger. I wanted to share books, which made me excited to read and write.

Q: Talk about your writing process.

JC: I have always written. As a kid, I took writing in college, and starting thinking that maybe I could do this as a job. My process is a mess. I start with a notebook and don’t type for a while. Handwriting seems better. Then I eventually move to a Word document, which I print after about 150-200 pages to see what I have. Usually it’s “the writing of a mad person”. The first draft is a disaster. The second draft is when I retype the whole thing. This part is both helpful and annoying. The third draft is a real draft. I like to work on paper, using a specific pen.

Q: Will your next work have multiple narrators, like your first two did?

JC: My next book may be told in first person. It has a great voice, but it might be limiting. When you’re bored with someone, as a writer, it’s nice to move on to someone else.

Q: Does good writing just flow out of you?

JC: There are days that are great when the writing flows, but that doesn’t happen every day. People have asked me, “Are there ever days when you just don’t feel like writing?” Yes – every day! Some days are really hard. Some people may write good, clean first drafts. Good for them! I have great times and low times.

Really looking forward to reading this one. Thanks for the great reading at P&P, Jennifer Close!

[A] subgenre of Gothic fiction unique to American literature that takes place exclusively in the American South. Common themes in Southern Gothic literature include deeply flawed, disturbing or disorienting characters, decayed or derelict settings, grotesque situations, and other sinister events relating to or coming from poverty, alienation, racism, crime, and violence.It is unlike its parent genre in that it uses these tools not solely for the sake of suspense, but to explore social issues and reveal the cultural character of the American South, with the Gothic elements taking place in a magic realist context rather than a strictly fantastical one.

The book in question is Wiley Cash’s debut novel A Land More Kind Than Home. It takes place in a small town in western North Carolina in the 80s, though it feels timeless, due to its rural, bleak setting. It is about the hold that religion (and alcohol) can take on people searching for meaning and direction and the misplaced trust that a small-town congregation placed in its sinister pastor. When the book opens, an eleven year-old mute boy is dead, leaving behind questions of how he died and why it happened at his mother’s church. The story is told by three narrators: the boy’s younger brother Jess, the town’s sheriff Clem, and the town’s elderly midwife Adelaide. The three narrators spin a sad, dark tale of regret, secrets, betrayal and loss that is deceptively simple in its delivery but rich with tension and conflict.

This is an impressive debut by Wiley Cash, who captured the diction and pace of this North Carolina backcountry perfectly. He has a gift for detail – the sweat of a beer bottle recently pulled from the fridge; the crunch of a police car’s tires spinning in the snow; the gentle clicking of a rattlesnake skin – that makes his writing breathe just under the surface. The book is well-paced, building slowly but inevitably to the climax you’ve expected from the first page. Yet Cash takes his time with his characters, teasing out their pasts slowly and frugally until they become filled in and in focus.

I also have great admiration for the audio version of A Land More Kind Than Home. The three performers were absolutely perfect – I felt like I was listening to a script reading. The voice of Clem, in particular, was superb. This may be the best audio production I’ve ever listened to.

A Land More Kind Than Home is certainly a departure from my usual fare, but I am glad I picked it up. It was a powerful, memorable read, and one that is sure to provoke discussion among those who read it.

Thank you to William Morrow for the review copy and to HarperAudio for the audiobook.

Linda Kish

Congratulations and thanks to everyone who entered!

In addition to the giveaway, I also have some other assets to share. Here is a book club kit and a trailer for Me Before You, in case you are thinking of reading it or have already done so and are looking for more thoughts on the book.

Good luck!

Me Before You is a beautifully paced book. Will and Louisa’s relationship grows so gradually and naturally that it is completely believable. This is no Hollywood rom com – these are two people for whom a future is very unlikely. Yet their interactions are vibrant and convincing, making these two come alive within the pages of Me Before You and establishing Will and Lou as one of the more memorable pairs I have come across in fiction.

It’s also a very thoughtful book that takes on the tough questions surrounding euthanasia. Does someone who desires to end his life owe it to those who love him to keep on living? How is quality of life measured – and should it be? Can expectations be altered so drastically that the unthinkable can become acceptable? Those trying to keep Will focused on a positive future – Lou, Will’s parents – come into deep conflict with Will’s desperation to escape his predicament – and Moyes keeps her readers guessing how it will resolve until the very end.

Me Before You isn’t a perfect book. The book is narrated entirely by Lou, with the exception of three brief chapters that are narrated by other characters, apparently to convey perspective and events that would be impossible in Lou’s voice. This seemed kind of lazy to me – surely there are other plot devices that could have accomplished the same without resorting to a brief – and jarring – narration change. There were also a few places where Moyes was needlessly unsubtle. I wish she had given her readers more credit and trusted that they could connect a few dots without her drawing the line for them.

But those are minor quibbles. Me Before You is a very worthwhile read – it manages to be enjoyable, heartbreaking, and provocative at the same time. I think it will stay with me for a long time.

• Amazon and Goodreads, huh? Makes sense for Amazon, but I can’t be totally happy about it, because 1) I fear that this will  further hurt the indies; and 2) I have heard that a lot of people are cancelling their accounts because of 1). I will keep an open mind but also I am worried that Amazon will affect the spirit of Goodreads… I am not totally anti-Amazon, but I am a staunch supporter of the indies. I’m torn.
• I am enjoying my current read – Me Before You by JoJo Moyes- quite a bit. And I just started an audiobook – A Land More Kind Than Home by Wiley Cash – which is one of the best audio productions I’ve ever listened to. It’s like listening to a play.
• I gave The Red House by Mark Haddon a try on audio as well. It’s a book told by eight different perspectives, with one narrator. The perspective changes every few paragraphs, which is very hard to follow on audio. I am switching over to the paper version.
• My twin daughters are reading one my all-time favorite books from childhood – The Westing Game. It is so much fun talking about it with them and re-experiencing it.
• Jennifer Close has a new book coming out! I loved Girls in White Dresses, so I am looking forward to getting The Smart One too. ARC is on its way…
• Only 2 months to BEA!

OK, I am on vacation for a few days so hopefully I will get some reading in. Back soon!

I’ve had The Grief of Others by Leah Hager Cohen on my TBR list for a while. It is about short period of time in the life of a family in crisis (surprise!) – The Ryries. Mom Ricky, dad John, and kids Paul and Biscuit (Elizabeth) – have suffered a terrible loss: the death of their baby brother Simon 57 hours after his birth. It is almost a year later, and the family is each dealing with this loss in his or her own private way. Ricky is distant and ignoring her other children, while John is trying to hold things together and simmering with anger at never having been allowed to hold his son. Biscuit is privately studying funeral traditions from other cultures, trying to understand how to remember and honor the brother she never got to know, and Paul is facing bullying at school and not confiding in anyone.

These four souls are careening, spiraling away from each other at the time when they need each other the most. Cohen includes a lot of flashbacks to times when Ricky and John’s marriage was stronger, when Ricky was happier and a more attentive mother. So we know that there is a strong foundation, but it is at risk.

The Ryries’ savior arrives in the form of an unexpected visitor: Jess, John’s daughter from a brief relationship in his 20s, who appears on the Ryries’ doorstep, pregnant. She and John have almost no relationship and haven’t seen each other in a decade, yet it is to the Ryries she flees when she finds herself unexpectedly expecting. Jess’ impact on the family is immediate and dramatic. Ricky accommodates and supports Jess, in part because doing so helps exonerate past transgressions against John, and in part because it allows her to channel her grief into hope for this new baby. The kids have their own unique relationships with Jess (who at least is paying attention to them), and John doesn’t know what to do with his grown, unfamiliar daughter. Yet her presence helps force the four to confront, as a family, what they’ve lost.

The Grief of Others is a good book – well-written and compelling (with the most devastating opening pages I’ve ever read – wow!) – but it left me sort of cold. I was certainly sad for this family, but Cohen’s minute, scorched-earth analysis of Ricky and John’s relationship was too much even for me. Too much detail, too much introspection. Not a lot actually happens in this book; there is a lot of going over old events and dissecting them from multiple angles. In the end, I found it all a little tedious. (I listened to this one on audio and that may have made it worse, because audiobooks are slower.)

The narration of the audio of The Grief of Others is overall pretty good, though the narrator’s voice sounds quite a bit older at times than the character she is voicing, which was jarring. But she is sympathetic and non-judgmental of these flawed characters.

Overall, I enjoyed The Grief of Others, but when I reached the end, I felt overly drained. Am I ready for a break from the tragedies of everyday families? Or was this one particularly difficult to get through? Time will tell.