Unraveled Wednesday: 7/16/25

I'm joining Kat and the Unravelers with some very slow progress on the second rainbow sock. Behold, three quarters of a heel flap! 

I did find the watermelon yarn I talked about last week and it's sitting here by my knitting spot as incentive. 

It was a not-terrific week in reading but that's to be expected once in a while. The first two are ARCs and the last book is one that was definitely not for me. 

I requested Next of Kin from NetGalley solely because I thought I might enjoy a memoir written by a chef, but I knew nothing about Gabrielle Hamilton. I should have started with her first memoir, Blood, Bones & Butter as that one was more becoming a chef and opening her restaurant. The best way I can describe this book is that it is sharp, unsentimental, but not very cohesive. It is more meandering and introspective, at times to the point of feeling closed off. I might know a little bit more about Hamilton after reading Next of Kin but not much.

The themes—family (chosen and otherwise), aging, duty, and estrangement—are compelling, and there are moving moments, particularly when Hamilton explores the unspoken bonds and emotional labor that come with caring for someone out of obligation rather than affection. Still, I found the pacing slow, and at times the narrative felt stuck in its own head, circling the same emotional territory without offering new insight. I admired the honesty, but I also felt like I was being kept at arm’s length.

One moment that especially stayed with me involved the death of one of Hamilton’s siblings by suicide. Their father’s reaction—"Well, if you have to lose one, at least it's the one you liked least"—was staggering. Hamilton’s response, “I had known, of course I had, that we were ranked,” is chilling in its quiet acceptance. I can’t begin to understand what it would be like to grow up in a family like that. My own experience with family offers no frame of reference for that kind of hierarchy or cruelty, and I found myself wondering what kind of people her parents really were.

That said, Hamilton’s prose is often incisive, and readers who enjoy character-driven, reflective nonfiction might find more to appreciate here than I did. A worthwhile but uneven read.

Thank you to NetGalley and Random House for providing me with a copy of this book. It will be published on October 14, 2025. Three stars from me. 

Like Family by Erin O. White is a thoughtful, emotionally layered debut that explores the complexities of chosen family, parenthood, and the invisible threads that bind people together. Set in the picturesque town of Radclyffe, New York—a place so idyllic it almost feels like a lifestyle catalog—the novel offers a warm and often touching portrait of three interconnected families trying to live out their values in real life while holding onto long-held secrets.

The heart of the story lies in Ruth and Caroline’s deep, decades-long friendship, and White does a lovely job capturing the quiet intimacies and unspoken loyalties that define such relationships. The novel thoughtfully examines how love—romantic, platonic, parental—can be both sustaining and messy, especially when secrets and unresolved tensions are involved.

However, the book sometimes feels a bit too serene, even when major emotional revelations or crises occur. The stakes don’t always land with the weight they should, and some of the characters—especially the men—come off more like supporting cast than fully realized people. There are moments when the prose veers into overly reflective territory, slowing the pace and dampening the tension that the story hints at but never quite fully delivers on. I often found myself confused by the number of characters, particularly the adults and their many children, who sometimes blended together. Many of the characters had similar voices or traits, making it hard to keep track of who was who or feel fully invested in each of their stories. While the writing is warm and reflective, the pacing occasionally drags, and some emotional revelations felt muted by the calm, almost too-peaceful tone.

Still, Like Family is a compassionate and earnest exploration of modern family life and the blurry lines between friends and kin. It's not a book that will shake you, but it may leave you quietly moved—and grateful for the complicated people who make up your own chosen family.

Thank you to Random House and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book. It will be published on November 4, 2025. This was another three star book for me. 

I'll admit that I placed These Summer Storms by Sarah Maclean on hold at the library because I liked the cover and it had a Kirkus starred review. It's my fault for not realizing that the author usually writes historical romance novels and this is her first foray into contemporary fiction. I am not her target audience but I was curious enough to find out how the premise played out. Sadly, I found cardboard characters, contrived conflict, and dialogue so over‑explained it felt like a never‑ending game of “tell, don’t show.”

The premise has promise but it is never realized. A dead billionaire patriarch forces his heirs to stay on the family’s private Rhode Island island for a week and complete a series of “tasks” if they want their inheritance. Each assignment is supposed to expose hidden desires and deep wounds; instead, they’re little more than petty errands that telegraph their moral lessons from a mile away. The family's last name is Storm, so there are far too many storm, ocean, sand, and saltwater similes and metaphors.

The one-dimensional characters include Greta, the eldest daughter desperate for approval; Alice, the “black‑sheep” sibling is defined almost entirely by how often she reminds us she left the family fortune behind and how badly she wants to leave again. Brother Sam, the presumptive heir mansplains, while youngest sister Emily provides crystals and whimsy and Mom weaponizes grief. Jack Dean, the rugged executor of Dad’s will, exists to smolder and provide romance for Alice. That’s it for depth.

The pacing alternates between glacial and frantic. We crawl through heaps of internal monologue (often the same revelation repeated in slightly different words) before racing through a final act pile‑up of twists that feel tacked on for shock value. I was not shocked, just let down by the final "twist".

I admire Sarah MacLean for leaving her historical comfort zone and she seems fairly successful there, but These Summer Storms reads like an early draft. At best I was entertained by dialogue like this: "The moment Jack's big hands slid into the back pockets of her shorts, activating a number of as yet undiscovered neural pathways, clear-mindedness was lost at sea." And this: "Jack made it feel like fantasy, slanting his kiss over hers, like the pirate that dived into the sea leaving his ship behind to follow her to shore." I've also learned to question what Kirkus Reviews considers exceptional merit and high quality. One puny little star and a lesson learned. 

What are you making and reading this week?