“We lose ourselves. But we find our way back.”
Here we go again. Even Shelby who has zero time to read snarfed this one right up and loved it. And then there’s me . . . . .
Before you get your rotten tomatoes ready for throwing at me, let me say I totally get why this book worked for everyone else. (Christine wrote the most excellent review ever and I wish I would have liked this more if for no other reason than I don’t like that I was such a wrongreader of something she liked so much.) If you can relate to any of the characters (sisters, mother, daughters), you’re going to have a different experience than me. Or if it makes you nostalgic because you’re of a certain age . . . .
Or if you aren’t of a certain age and get some enlightenment because you discover you’re not quite as informed as you may think you are regarding women’s issues due to the fact that . . . . .
Maybe I just fell in a gray area???? Or more likely, maybe this just wasn’t for me because . . . . .
Y’all know I’m not big on the tragiporn – and these poor gals? We’re talking molesty uncles and rape and eating disorders and drug abuse and interracial/same-sex issues and . . . . .
Simply stated, this is a story that follows two sisters over the course of their entire lives. It starts in 1950 and doesn’t end until 2022. It just wasn’t my cuppa. I promise you guys I didn’t pick this up with the intention of being contrary. I was already one hundred millionth in line at the library because the buzz was saying I would like it so when the opportunity to snag it from the “New and Notable” (a/k/a no reservations allowed) shelf came about I immediately grabby-handsed it and read it that weekend. If you’re a fan of Jennifer Weiner . . . well, you probably already own this so I probably shouldn’t even be worrying about you guys. If you’re like me and have read her before and both loved and hated it, I can’t say what side you’ll fall on here. I will say I’m fickle and can easily overlook glaring plotholes and suspend disbelief to the nth degree if a book has sucked me in, but things like this . . . . .
Make me pert near apoplectic if I am not loving it. Nitpicky asshole, party of one???
I will also take a stand here and say if someone is going to be in an internet fight for a bazillion years regarding why their work should be considered literary fiction, that person should probably know that simply writing a bunch of pages and covering a large timespan doesn’t magically morph their story into one that is not . . . .
And, once again, don’t jump my ass. At least I’ve read Jennifer Weiner before. I’ve actively avoided Jonathan Franzen all these for his part in this dumbass troll-off – despite the fact that I am repeatedly told he writes books that people think I would love.