![]() ![]() Apart from a few scattered "I miss Dad"'s, there's no believable, relatable sign of grief, of real loss, of the myriad ramifications and changes that are set into motion when one loses a parent and that you can't know about until it happens to you. I also wonder if the author has really experienced the death of a parent, as the characters in this book have. There was a lot of wize-cracking and mutual disrespect and dismissiveness, but none of it came across as at all genuine or charming. And the characterization was flat, the characters all cardboard cutouts stuffed into traditional family pigeon holes. But aside from that there was a very one-dimensional quality to the dialogue - families, siblings in particular, just don't talk to each other the way they do in this book. The observations about life are what's best about this book. ![]() ![]() And I really appreciate that and am glad I read this book for that alone. Some sharp observations about disappointment and growing up and loss and fucking up that leaped off the page. Sign me up.įor sure there was some great language in here. The book promised to be witty and biting, an unforgiving look at family dynamic. And in reading the dust jacket flap, I was immediately drawn in by the idea of the book: a family - four siblings - mourning the death of their father, coming together for seven days to sit shiva. I picked up this book on the recommendation of an acquaintance whose taste I trust. ![]()
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