Wednesday, November 4, 2015

The Grownup by Gillian Flynn

3 Stars
Before I begin this “review” – here’s a little Public Service Announcement for all you fine folks. While The Grownup had a publication date of yesterday – the story actually came out back in 2014 under the title What Do You Do? (Sidenote: New title is mucho better) which was contained in the short story collection Rogues. When I hopped over to the library website there were FIFTY people ahead of me for The Grownup. There were zero for Rogues. Ha! Take that stupids! This little experiment also proved (once again) that . . .

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Now, on to the story. Don’t let my rating fool you – it’s because I fail at short stories, not because the story itself was a failure. The Grownup is the tale of a woman who had a pretty horrible childhood. Forced to panhandle by her lazy sloth of a mother, she took the first chance that came her way in order to escape. That chance came at a place called “Spiritual Palms” . . .

I’d answered an ad for a receptionist. It turned out “receptionist” meant “hooker.”

Like déjà vu all over again. No worries, my dear MC – it happens to the best of us.

It’s at Spirutal Palms where our leading lady makes a real name for herself – in the form of rubber-gloving-up and performing 23,456 handies over a three-year period . . .

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Unfortunately, with that much repeated hand motion carpal tunnel syndrome was inevitable. Lucky for our MC she also was blessed with an ability to see auras which lead to a job not in the sticky back room. That is where she meets Susan, a wealthy woman who is experiencing some difficulty adjusting to life in her renovated mansion, as well as with her stepson. The boy seems a little . . . off. Or maybe he’s just pubing out? I don’t know. I have a teenager and I’m always struggling to figure out if he’s possessed by a demon or simply hormonal . . .

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Whatever the case may be, it’s Flynn so some twists and turns and stuff and things then ensue. And then? Well, then it ended. Dammit! I was just getting warmed up. But again, it’s Flynn. I have a feeling her response to my cries of wanting more of her story would be something like this . . .

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I did indeed whatever. Pass me another cup of Kool-Aid, you booktease. I’m still thirsty.

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