When a child is endangered, who’s the first person everyone
looks at if not the mother? She’s the first one to take the blame and most of
the time, she’s blaming herself more than anyone else could, whether it’s
warranted or not. But what if as the mother the harm done isn’t to your own
child, but to a friend’s child who was given into your care? And the harm is
the direct result of your negligence, because as the result of your overwhelmingly
busy, stressed out life, the one with the schedule from hell, you dropped the
ball, failed to check up on, to follow through on the whereabouts of this
child, and now, she’s missing? That’s the set-up, the trigger that ignites this
riveting domestic thriller. It’s a story that begins with ordinary life and
ordinary people who within the space of a day, of mere hours, find themselves
under scrutiny from the police and the media, their friends and neighbors. This
situation could happen so easily to anyone, really. How would you feel? That’s
the question. What would you do? In her debut novel, JUST WHAT KIND OF MOTHER
ARE YOU, Paula Daly, renders a compelling portrait of a mother whose life takes
the darkest detour imaginable. But character is the real strength of this
novel. Each one is vividly alive and breathing right off the page, and the
suspense builds with perfect rhythm until the last explosive page. And the
ending is a shocker.
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ol kid, an athlete on the fast track to a college scholarship, an all around great guy with a bright future, is implicated when a girl he’s dating disappears on a snowy night in Wisconsin. This isn’t the typical suspense novel, some police procedural, no. It’s a heartrending story about a family that is suddenly, illogically and brutally broken apart by a single tragic event, and the incredible suspicion that explodes in its aftermath, tainting the entire family. Long-held loyalties shatter. Trust is gone. And the future that once seemed solid and sure is, within days, wholly brought into doubt. That this fast-paced, tautly written page-turner is told through the eyes of a nine-year-old narrator, the sister of the accused, only makes it more poignant when she’s forced to make choices and to evaluate circumstances that are beyond her understanding. It’s not until she returns as an adult to her childhood home that she begins to understand the mystery of what really happened on that long ago snowy night. It’s not at all what she thought, and the end, when it comes is shocking and nothing at all like what she might have predicted.
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through their response to a shocking incident, perpetrated by their teenage nephew, their sister’s kid, the loner who’s so awkward and shy, he barely makes a blip on the radar screen. Now this kid’s in trouble, and the Burgess boys, both lawyers, are summoned by their sister to the rescue. That’s the scaffolding, the ribs so to speak, where this story hangs, but it is so much more and all of it rendered in the inimitable style that Elizabeth Strout is known for. From nothing more than words, she creates a wonderfully gorgeous and accurate cast of characters and sets them into situations that are vividly real and poignant, managing to make them accessible even when you don’t like them or their opinions much. But the really riveting core of this novel, at least for me, was in how she took a fairly ordinary family, albeit one that suffered an enormous and shocking tragedy early on, and a current situation, fraught with racial tension, one that had all the earmarks of becoming a national incident, and reflected though these circumstances the similarities that lie between individuals, whether in families, or political parties, or communities or nations. We are all the same, all human. For my money, having read all of Ms. Strout’s books, I like this one best.
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