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?
