Skylight Confessions by Alice Hoffman

First and foremost, ignore that stupid title.

Second, I have earned a few happy books, and I plan on indulging. Holy crap. This book was bleak. Filled with that pervasive New England moroseness – death so matter of fact. Stiff upper lip and whatnot. I’m reeling from reading this thing.

Plot – Arlyn thinks her marriage is fated, and then it turns into a disappointment and awfulness happens to pretty much every character. It wasn’t a teary-book. I didn’t get attached to the characters. But I do feel like I want to lie here and stare at my ceiling and contemplate everything. My angsty 15-year-old self has emerged for a visit.

I think it may take me some time to shake this one. It was like less awesome Steinbeck. A pervading sense of fatality that’s left me a little adrift. Time to move on to something cheerful…or maybe just go to bed.

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