SOPHIE SULLIVAN'S PAGE: YOU MAKE IT FEEL LIKE CHRISTMAS, latest rom-com contemporary; & A GUIDE TO BEING JUST FRIENDS, Jansen Brothers #3

YOU MAKE IT FEEL LIKE CHRISTMAS
SOPHIE SULLIVAN
St. Martin's Griffin (non-affiliate Bookshop.org link)
$11.99 ebook, available now

Rating: 3.75* of five

The Publisher Says: All bets are off when a single-minded photographer and a professional hockey player are forced to spend a week together on his sister’s Christmas tree farm, perfect for fans of Jenny Holiday and Maggie Knox.

Maisie Smart has a don’t-look-back policy–not on the choice she made to be a photographer (despite her family’s wishes) and not on the one-night stand she had six months ago. Sleeping with someone she barely knew was out of character; sleeping with a professional hockey player who bolted the morning after is a whole new level of embarrassing. Getting invited to spend the week at Tickle Tree Farm with her family this Christmas is a sure way to fill her with holiday spirit. Until the universe throws a Grinch in her festive plans in the form of the one man she hoped to avoid.

Nick King is a mess. After a significant injury lands him on the bench for every game for the rest of the month, he has more time to dwell on the one night stand he can’t get out of his head. With time on his hands, his anxiety hovering, and the holidays around the corner, he figures visiting his sister and nephew at their Christmas tree farm will be a good way to lie low and sort himself out. He’s in for a surprise when it turns out Maisie is staying at his sister’s and his attraction for her hasn’t lessened one bit in the last six months. Apparently, neither has her anger at him for bailing. But Christmas is the time for second chances, and the forced proximity may help Nick and Maisie unwrap feelings neither of them can walk away from twice.

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My Review: Apart from renaming "Maisie" to be "Mason" and switching her pronouns...or "how I always read romantic fiction in the past"...nothing needed changing for me to thoroughly enjoy this holiday-themed romance. Its lower-steam (pun intended; you'll have to read the book to see why it is one) level meant I did fairly little skippidy-doo-dah to avoid the squick factor. The forced proximity worked better for me than it usually does because they were both there with their families for a holiday, therefore everyone was very much inclined to find the fun and humor in everything to offset family stress.

Of course they end up in love, it's a category romance. The set-up gives them both real, honest issues to overcome. It's a hallmark (!) of the best contemporary romances to keep the stakes grounded in at the very least plausible conflicts between the couple. Sophie Sullivan is a top-quality practitioner of her craft. Below is another review of one of her works, with a link to an earlier one I read and enjoyed in that series. Suffice to say, I admire craft professionalism wherever I find it.

Nick, in particular, is drawn as a man whose competitive edge is rooted in his need to measure up to his own standards. It's more palatable as a motivation to win than the ordinary need to dominate others. His strong bond to his sister, and his desire to be there in his nephew's life, show that Author Sullivan made Nick's anxiety over his injury and its possible consequences consistent with really positive-feeling issues that still need addressing to move forward in all parts of his life. Needing to contextualize his anxiety and to find good, healthy coping mechanism for it, offer him the additional benefit of being able, and willing, to invite the intriguing and interesting new love into his life on a sound footing.

One of my Goodreads friends really described my response to this read best: "If you’ve ever wanted your holiday rom-com to suddenly morph into therapy with tree ornaments, you’re in for a treat." No one in the entire story does not need some help sorting through their self-defeating behaviors, and responses to others' behaviors, so the playing field is level throughout. It felt very much like being in a positive group therapy session where everyone's honestly trying their damnedest to do the right thing.

Why I'm only at a hair under four stars has to do with the way the mother/daughter conflict utterly dominates the second half of the story. I'm aware that this is a major source of unhappiness for lots and lots of women in the world, I'd've liked a bit less rancor delivered with the effort to reconnect to the genuine loving root of their relationship.

So I was not utterly ensorceled by the story. I was impressed and pleased at how much Nick's efforts to recover a positive mental frame for his ongoing anxiety were foregrounded. I only wanted a bit less of the focus to be on the angrier emotional valance; it's the holidays, let's have *some* fantasy elements!

A top quality read, no matter what.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

A GUIDE TO BEING JUST FRIENDS (Jansen Brothers #3)
SOPHIE SULLIVAN
St. Martin's Griffin (non-affiliate Bookshop.org link)
$9.99 ebook, available now

Rating: 3.75* of five

The Publisher Says: A playful and emotional romantic comedy from the author of Ten Rules for Faking It

Hailey Sharp has a one-track mind. Get By the Cup salad shop off the ground. Do literally everything possible to make it a success. Repeat. With a head full of entrepreneurial ideas and a bad ex in her rearview, her one and only focus is living life the way she wants to. No distractions.

Wes Jansen never did understand the fuss about relationships. With a string of lackluster first dates and the pain from his parents’ angry divorce following him around, he’d much rather find someone who he likes, but won’t love. Companionship, not passion, is the name of the game.

When Hailey and Wes find each other in a disastrous meet cute that wasn’t even intended for them, they embarrassingly go their separate ways. But when Wes finds Hailey to apologize for his behavior, they strike a friendship. Because that’s all this can be. Hailey doesn’t want any distractions. Wes doesn’t want to fall in love.

What could possibly go wrong?

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA NETGALLEY. THANK YOU.

My Review: After HOW TO LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR's review from 2022, I got a widget for this book. Accepting it took a minute because, well, straight people's relationship/bedroom issues do not command much attention or sympathy from me.

But Author Sullivan, I reminded myself, doesn't do headboard-knockin' sex or teary-eyed, wearying angst! And so I was sold, again. I'm glad to say that Wes and Hailey were companionable and deciding interesting problems together.

Yes, that's right, I said "together." Wes listens when Hailey talks to him; Hailey, for her part, is glad to have a friend who really *does* listen. There's a couple in a category romance that support each other's goals because they take the time to learn what those goals are. I honestly thought Wes's desire to date a woman for good and ever was ridiculous, but that didn't really last. I knew he was kidding himself, I think anyone over 30 would, and Hailey's relentless focus on her weird salad-in-a-cup thing was always going to burn out.

This read was what I wanted as I read it. I did not need more stress, but I did need some story-beats to hold my attention. This story ended the Jansen Brothers series, which were decent and involving stories; I know now there's more stories comin' (see above) with Author Sullivan's balanced plotting...neither party is perfect; neither party is a basket case...and gift for acerbic observations.

I'd say it's a worthwhile series to read, though the order you read them in is unimportant. I'll take another widget, if St. Martin's/Griffin is offering. Your need for just-enough of all the usual plot dressings in a category romance will determine your desire to procure one for yourself.

WE WERE THE UNIVERSE, fist novel and second book from Kimberly King Parsons

WE WERE THE UNIVERSE
KIMBERLY KING PARSONS
Alfred A. Knopf (non-affiliate Bookshop.org link)
$12.99 ebook, available now

SHORTLISTED FOR THE 37TH Lambda Literary Awards for Bisexual Fiction.

Rating: 4.75* of five

The Publisher Says: A young mother, in denial after the death of her sister, navigates the dizzying landscapes of desire, guilt, and grief in this darkly comic, highly anticipated debut novel from Kimberly King Parsons, author of the story collection, Black Light (longlisted for the National Book Award).

The trip was supposed to be fun. When Kit’s best friend gets dumped by his boyfriend, he begs her to ditch her family responsibilities for an idyllic weekend in the Montana mountains. They’ll soak in hot springs, then sneak a vape into a dive bar and drink too much, like old times. Instead, their getaway only reminds Kit of everything she’s lost lately: her wildness, her independence, and—most heartbreaking of all—her sister, Julie, who died a few years ago.

When she returns to the Dallas suburbs, Kit tries to settle into her routine—long afternoons spent caring for her irrepressible daughter, going on therapist-advised dates with her concerned husband, and reluctantly taking her mother’s phone calls. But in the secret recesses of Kit’s mind, she’s reminiscing about the band she used to be in—and how they’d go out to the desert after shows and drop acid. She’s imagining an impossible threesome with her kid’s pretty gymnastics teacher and the cool playground mom. Keyed into everything that might distract from her surfacing pain, Kit spirals. As her already thin boundaries between reality and fantasy blur, she begins to wonder: Is Julie really gone?

Neon bright in its insight, both devastating and laugh-out-loud funny, We Were the Universe is an ambitious, inventive novel from a revelatory new voice in American fiction—a fearless exploration of sisterhood, motherhood, friendship, marriage, psychedelics, and the many strange, transcendent shapes love can take.

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA NETGALLEY. THANK YOU.

My Review: First novel by my 2019 six-stars-of-five delight's author (see link above).

Any novel about grief, grieving, loss, or aging will alienate some readers. It is a requirement of Life that we experience these things. It is not, for some, cathartic to experience them in fiction. I'm not one of those people, but if you are, this is not the read for you.

I'm very much not a member of the Cult of Mother, but motherhood...from both sides, mothered and mothering ("Our spheres are almost entirely our mothers’ doing, for better or worse")...is another central fact of Life for us all. (Yes, choosing not to Mother or being unable to give birth is also in this life-equation.) The way Author Kimberly uses this in her novelistic debut is to explore it while living her own life. When Julie dies, too young, Kit is pregnant. We meet Kit after her daughter turns three, thus not having to deal with the Terrible Twos, an arrangement decidedly superior to the real-life one. In the intense whirl of mothering as a stay-at-home parent, Kit is torn into mother, sister, spouse gobbets by the powerful emotions each of these elicits...requires...of her. It's no surprise that she needs some time off. Don't all mothers? Haven't they needed time off they never got throughout history? I digress.

Kit was a wildchild earlier in her life. That identity never really leaves one, once adopted, it can only be suppressed not expunged. It's clear to me this identity was powerfully rooted because dead-by-overdose Julie ("I cannot fucking believe she's not here, that she's not anywhere") never bothered to suppress it. When her GBFF from days gone by calls on Kit to ditch her life after he suffers setbacks that hurt, she tingles with the old urge to cut loose. It takes spousal support, granted, but it also requires she consider her child's feelings.

This is the single greatest strength of Author Kimberly's stories. Complexity is baked in, not slapped on. It's not the point; it's not handwaved away; it's part of the reality of Kit's life as spouse and mother, so it's in the story. I resonate with this because complexity is what Life is. Part of that complexity in this story is the way the narrative (told from Kit's PoV) is in two timelines, present and revolving like a slide carousel among her memories. Like all adults the world Kit lives in is built on the bumpy earth of memory. At different times the present will pitch one up to see the future from a hill, will spine one around to see the past, or knock one flat to study the ground for a while: "It seems to me these lost pastimes—being a psychonaut and being slutty—are connected. Maybe because they're two things I enjoyed being that I'm not allowed to be anymore. Identities that induced a feeling of security, false as it might have been. My old coping mechanisms have become incompatible with my life choices. 'It's just growing up,' Yes says. 'Easier for some of us than others.'" Unlike books with a different set of timelines that benefit from carefully signposted offramps into the others, this story is about the lived experience of an adult's reckoning process. Look at the title. The memories of life as it was, and as it can never be again, are accurately presented as they happen. Never once did I think "what in tarnation brought that up?"

Speaking of tarnation, Author Kimberly is exiled Texan as am I. It felt so much like going home to the place that made me but doesn't want me to read the memories...it was healing for Kit and it was healing for me to look at the way things were before there was another place to call home. In the course of her escape with her GBFF, which we know will be temporary, her inner monologue gets searingly honest: "Nobody knows me, but they still need me, all of them. Nobody wants a mother too sad to make a sandwich, a wife too crazy to fuck, a friend who sounds insane. They need me in the grocery store, in the bedroom, at brunch. They need me to be available and so I am, or my body is. The body goes around fulfilling my obligations. The body makes grilled cheese and gives blow jobs and gets ready to fly off to god knows where with her brokenhearted best friend."

It is motherhood. It is adulthood, it is caretaking, it is being the one who knows how to fix stuff. This tells the entire history of how one adult is trapped into, trapped by, the needs of others intersecting with the need in one's self to give what one never got. Many are the ones who want to receive this gift, few care to offer it:

It seems to me these lost pastimes—being a psychonaut and being slutty—are connected. Maybe because they're two things I enjoyed being that I'm not allowed to be anymore. Identities that induced a feeling of security, false as it might have been. My old coping mechanisms have become incompatible with my life choices. "It's just growing up," Yes says. "Easier for some of us than others."

Simple truth. Hard to argue with it, and often too easy to use as a weapon against one.

I'm describing a five-star read. I don't have five stars up top. What happened there? The ending. I don't mean, as I usually do when I type those words, that I did not like how the story ended, or felt that it did not end so much as stopped. I am actually stumped. I feel a bit stupid...what just happened here?...and why? So I had to wonder where to go with my pleasure in the read until those last ~75pp.

I realized as I sat with my thoughts that I was *having* thoughts...I was wondering why Kit chose straightness (ugh) why she never opted for...you get the point. No story that makes me think this hard this long after reading it means it needs most of that fifth star in acknowledgment of that power in the storytelling.

SOMETIMES YOU JUST KNOW, age-gap found-family gay male romance

SOMETIMES YOU JUST KNOW
BILL VAN PATTEN
Self-published (non-affiliate Amazon link)
$4.99 Kindle edition, available now

Rating: 3.5* of five

The Publisher Says: Can a thirty-year-old man overcome his fears and find love? Arnie Violet is the son of an alcoholic mother and a father who abandoned him at the age of ten. Believing himself unlovable, he lacks self-confidence in everything from work to romance. Then, Arnie meets eighteen-year-old Peter Jordan. Peter is the opposite of Arnie: self-assured, frank, and assertive.

There is an instant attraction between them, but warning bells sound in Arnie’s head. His relationships never last long, there is a major age difference between the two men, and most importantly, Peter is his boss’s nephew. With the help of a new friend, Arnie embarks on a journey of self-discovery and learns to let go of the past and lean into life.

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA NETGALLEY. THANK YOU.

My Review: The synopsis is very precise and on-point, so we go into this read with a clear roadmap of the journey. It's not suspenseful...it is compelling to me, whose experiences of life are very close to Arnie's minus the maternal alcoholism. Abandoned by a father whose selfishness was complete? Check! Emotionally abused by a codependent mentally ill mother? Check! Involved in an age-gap romance? Check!

I know from reading the author's bio that he's telling us a story rooted in his own gay-male experience. This comes through in many facets of Arnie's story, and none more clearly than the opening scene where Arnie is raked over the coals by his supervisor, Rachel, not for the first or even tenth time, in the cruelest and most belittling way. This sets the tone for the read: Arnie in an awful and humiliating position, painfully unable to defend or extract himself from it.

As the narration is all third-person limited, we're privy to all the ways the action mirrors his past abuse. It can feel a bit repetitive, but it definitely sets the stakes. This is a man with a huge hill to climb just to get up to "bad." When glimmerings of good things come to him, if he even recognizes them, he's immediately on the alert for the fuckening. This being a romantic story, we know this is what we're here to watch him triumph over.

And do that he does...he's handed a dinner invitation by his boss hot on the heels of his very public humiliation by Rachel, and of course is all set for it to turn into a fiasco...especially when he meets the boss's handsome, sparkling dominant nephew. Who is all of eighteen. And beautiful.

And interested in thirty-year-old Arnie.

That CAN'T be right.

What follows is the journey to self-acceptance and to learning about accepting acceptance. Arnie is, at long last, among people who want to be with him. That's an intoxicating feeling to someone not accustomed to it. Arnie blossoms into a happy, still-nebbishy middle-aged guy. I'd've been a lot less kind if he'd suddenly changed completely, but he's a better-adjusted version of himself at the end of the book—not someone suddenly tured into a confident, self-motivated dudebro.

I liked this read just fine, and appreciated its positive resolution that stayed within realistic outcomes. A lot of guys could identify with nebbishy Arnie Violet. His trajectory, while pat (as expected in this genre), is never incredible. It's a warm comforting thing to see this ordinary no one much get to live out his happy dream.

No matter how banal the dream may be.

HOW TO LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR, a sweet HEA straight rom-com

HOW TO LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR (Jansen Brothers #2)
SOPHIE SULLIVAN
St. Martin's Press
$16.99 trade paper, available now

Rating: 3.5* of five

The Publisher Says: Enemies-to-lovers meets HGTV in this frothy, effervescent romantic comedy from Sophie Sullivan, author of Ten Rules for Faking It.

Interior Design School? Check. Cute house to fix up? Check.

Sexy, grumpy neighbor who is going to get in the way of your plans? Check. Unfortunately.

Grace Travis has it all figured out. In between finishing school and working a million odd jobs, she’ll get her degree and her dream job. Most importantly, she’ll have a place to belong, something her harsh mother could never make. When an opportunity to fix up—and live in—a little house on the beach comes along, Grace is all in. Until her biggest roadblock moves in next door.

Noah Jansen knows how to make a deal. As a real estate developer, he knows when he's found something special. Something he could even call home. Provided he can expand by taking over the house next door—the house with the combative and beautiful woman living in it.

With the rules for being neighborly going out the window, Grace and Noah are in an all-out feud. But sometimes, your nemesis can show you that home is always where the heart is.

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA NETGALLEY. THANK YOU.

My Review: When Irresistible Force Met Immovable Object is a romantic-fiction staple. The reason it works, time upon time after time, is that the plot never stops feeling...probable, plausible, possible. "Surely *I* will succeed where others have failed," we think with the point-of-view character. The gendered expressions of this...a man who needs to Fix It, a woman who needs to Change It...are both present here.

Why does it work? Because we're told it will, does it become a self-fulfilling prophecy? Um...how's that workin' in real life, then....

So reading this iteration of the old story is pointless, then? Nope. Not a bit of it, as you'll find out when you settle in for a dank winter's afternoon of page-borne cheerfulness. Two people with frankly selfish agendas meet with no obvious path to compromise, only of necessity the victory of Party A over Party B. For most of human history that set-up plays out that way. Given the nature of Grace's upbringing I expected it to be that way this time too, with her gladly giving up her utterly unknown grandparents' little bungalow for the handsome prince's home. Why, there's a way we can subvert expectations, thinks Author Sullivan...so instead of making Grace a gracious loser who wins the bigger prize, the neighbors mend their fences (figurative and literal) in more lasting ways. Therein the way the subversion works best.

What plays well with me, maybe predictably, is Grace's (ugh) gracious (sorry) inclusion of elders in her life. Her deeply toxic mother wasn't a mom, and her thus-inevitable lifelong search for found family is relatable to me. What makes it even sweeter, in the sugary sense, is that she volunteers for caretaker duties with older men who need her for practical reasons...Morty's the proverbial old fool whose unwillingness to grow up even as he grows old will be the death of him much to his gal-pal (NOT "girlfriend" ugh!) Tilly's disgust...but whom she in her turn needs for the long-missing and urgently needed sense of Belonging that older people anchor younger ones with. It is something I've played out from both sides at different times in my life, and it's always worked out well. So far.

So that's the plus side...the downside is real too. The two characters alternate viewpoints, which I approve of as a device in these "he-said-she-said" narratives. The execution...

"You're a very curious and capable woman."

She beamed at him. "Thank you."

He just laughed. Maybe the women he usually hung out with liked different compliments.
–and–
Biting his cheek to keep from smiling, he nodded, then asked, "You think I'm handsome?"

She turned away before her eyeroll was complete. "I'm about to Julia Roberts your credit cards so make sure you're prepared."

No points for guessing which is from whose point of view. Grace gets the best lines...it is really her book, so fair enough...but if you go to the trouble of setting up the dichotomy, even out the benefits for it to work as well as it can. I was more convinced that these insta-luuuv sufferers were being presented to me this way so I would really understand why the lust each quite justifiably fell into went deeper. This was undermined by the aforementioned inequality of quality, if you'll forgive the excursion into recursion.

There is quite a cast of characters to keep track of...Rosie, Chris are the BFFs but Chris is also a sibling; Kyle's a contractor whose life as a dad we're treated to glimpses of but Josh is another whose appearances are frequent enough that I was left wondering why he wasn't a bigger part of the story...though I myownself don't see that as a problem, it does contribute to what I honestly feel is a big one: It's too long. I'm interested in Grace's interior design process, I'm appreciative of that layer of verisimilitude offered me, and I still want less of it. The exchanges with Morty and Tilly are amusing, but honestly? Less is more, emulate Le Corbusier when you're inching up on 400pp. And, I realize this is probably just me, but good goddesses please no more painting-as-foreplay! I got headaches from it.

In the end, as one knows it will, the story's HEA comes as no surprise but does come wrapped in a semi-lethal dose of feel-goodish sweetness. It's a lovely moment, the one that ends the book, and would film well...something I don't doubt was in the author's mind...and it gives us the thing that romantic fiction readers need: closure without foreclosure. The parties are together, big shock; but they're not on shaky ground, there's no magical elimination of the obstacles in their world. That always means to me that the author's got respect for her readers. Using deus ex machina is always a cheap trick and it's one that Sophie Sullivan did not succumb to the obvious pointers to use. Kudos for that, and could you please use your PowerPoint skills to wean other authors off it?

LANNY, which by the time y'all see this, we'll know the Booker fate of

LANNY
MAX PORTER
Graywolf Press
$24.00 hardcover, available now

Rating: 3* of five

The Publisher Says: There’s a village sixty miles outside London. It’s no different from many other villages in England: one pub, one church, red-brick cottages, council cottages and a few bigger houses dotted about. Voices rise up, as they might do anywhere, speaking of loving and needing and working and dying and walking the dogs.

This village belongs to the people who live in it and to the people who lived in it hundreds of years ago. It belongs to England’s mysterious past and its confounding present. But it also belongs to Dead Papa Toothwort, a figure schoolchildren used to draw green and leafy, choked by tendrils growing out of his mouth.

Dead Papa Toothwort is awake. He is listening to this twenty-first-century village, to his English symphony. He is listening, intently, for a mischievous, enchanting boy whose parents have recently made the village their home. Lanny.

I BORROWED THIS BOOK (THANK GOODNESS!) FROM MY LOCAL PUBLIC LIBRARY. THANK YOU!

My Review: This book is on the Booker Prize longlist. That means I, to remain engaged with the literary world as much as I can be, want to read it. I should've made a moment in my headlong rush to consider the portent of finding this typographical sensibility-bashing right up front:

from p9 (set in the fashion of the spread above):
and then he hears it, clear and true, the lovely sound of his favourite.
The boy.

It would have the head of a dolphin and the wings of a peregrine, and it would be a storm-warning beast, watching the weather while we sleep.

Dead Papa Toothwart hugs himself with diseased larch arms and dribbles cuckoo spit down his chin. ... Surgical longings invade him, he wants to chop the village open and pull the child out. Extract him.
***
I am old enough to remember concrete poetry's last go-round in the 1960s. But good lawsy me, the concept of using text design, then typography, to force the reader to step outside the linearity of the ordinary reading experience has been around for quite some time (Aldus Manutius, anyone? Hypnerotomachia Poliphilii jangling a distant bell?), even predating by over one thousand five hundred years the invention of moveable type.

So yes, Dead Papa Toothwort's sections weren't a surprise to me, and I was a wee bit unhappy to encounter this dratted artsy-fartsy over-the-top goof in a book so short it needs to be marketed as a novella. Really. You, Author Porter, don't trust me to be swept along by your words, so you play silly buggers with the poor printers and binders. I wonder what the spoilage rate was on this title.

So let's look at this book's actual text, shall we? That way it's not me offering my opinion, as I can hear the GOTCHA!! Gangers tuning up their tutters to tut at me, in YOUR opinion, goes the intended-to-be-caustic dismissal of my tedious, overbearing man-ness daring to say I think something without hedging it about with disclaimers etc etc etc:
from p31 (Pete is speaking):

This, Lanny, is a significant place.

Why?

This is the point at which you can no longer be seen. The village is always watching, but past this point you're beyond their gaze.

Basically, a more loudly trumpeted and darkly foreshadowed plot twist I have not seen.

from p35 (dinner party narrated by "Lanny's Mum" the nameless-so-far actress/novelist):

I vote it's not the slightest bit weird, said Greg. He's Peter Blythe, he was pretty famous back in the day, so you're getting a bargain. And if they get on well, and he needs the company, go for it.

'Needs the company' is exactly why it's not right. It's unprofessional, said Sally.

Exactly, says Robert, waving his expensive salad tongs. Who needs the company? Are we lending out our son to stave off Pete's loneliness? Like conversational meals on wheels for sad old artists?

Oh, fuck off, Robert, I said. Is it beyond your shrunken world view to imagine that something nice might exist without money ever needing to change hands?

Mum, Dad, and the Village arranging themselves on the sides they'll occupy when The Twist twists their collective nose hairs.

from p47 (Dead Papa Toothwort speaking, hence the boldface):

He leaves the village riding the smells from the kitchens, spinning and surfing, wafting and curling, from Jenny's lasagne to Larton's microwave stroganoff, Derek's hotpot-for-one, such rich sauces, so much sugar, was never so varied as this, not-very-recently-dead meat dressed in fancy flavours, he laughs, funny busy worker bees of the village stuffing their faces and endlessly rebuilding and replacing things. All they are is bags of shopping and bags of rubbish. He takes such offence to the smell of Pam Foy's stir-in jalfrezi sauce that he tears a bit of his nightmare skin off and shoves it through her window. A truly horrid dream. Sleep well Pam, he chuckles, as he floats homeward across the field.

Portentous. Are the frissons frissonning up your horripilating arms?

p61 (Lanny's mum, whose name we still haven't learned yet, is speaking):

One morning, I heard a little scream. A pained noise. Animal rasping. I couldn't tell where it was coming from. I didn't know what to do. I felt I needed a rural life-advice number I could call. Hello, there is tiny screaming, there is a small beast whining, and I am a depressed out-of-work actress and my husband is a city slicker who wouldn't know a cow from a boar.
***
The next page and a half aren't pleasant.
***
Now how do you feel?

I felt good.

I felt capable, competent, and clear-minded. I bleached the sink, washed the knife and returned it to the drawer. You and I have a little secret now, I said to the blade.

1) Actress? An actress who never hears or even thinks her own name? 2) What's your husband got to do with what happens? 3) ::eyeroll:: MEN WRITING WOMEN: WOMEN ARE NOT ALWAYS THINKING ABOUT US. GET OVER IT.

p68 (Pete is speaking):

I can usually see a way to understand terrible things. Satanic worship, decaffeinated coffee, cosmetic surgery, but Renoir's portrait of Madame de Bonnières? No. It cannot be understood or forgiven. And framed in gold plastic and spot-lit from above? No offence intended, Charlotte, there is not a chamber in hell hot enough for a woman of your taste.

Portrait of Madame De Bonnières (Henriette Arnaud-Gentil, Gräfin De Bonnière), painted 1889
This is a meditation in response to a local mum whose...discomfort...with Mad Old Pete the faggot coming to pick up Lanny for his actress mum, as she makes him wait outside her sacred child-stuffed grotto while she calls actress-mum to be sure she's not sending the child to be raped and murdered by the slavering pedophile. *sigh* Familiar with that one, I am.

p76 (Pete still speaking):

In the bus shelter as we passed there was the Henderson boy with Oscar whatsisname from Yew Tree Cottage and they were passing back and forth a joint as big as a church candle, a floppy, knuckled, badly-built thing, and my word it smelled nice. We nodded as we passed and I raised a hand in greeting.

WEIRDO coughed one of them, spluttering into giggles.

We walked on.

I was a little stuck for what to say and then Lanny asked, Do you think they were talking about me or you?

Tedious petit-bourgeois snobs with the cultural nous of parsnips judge what they can't understand and, as The TWIST!!! approaches, Pete's gonna get it in the neck.

Seriously. Everybody got that? Are we all on the same page now? Permaybehaps not...

p85 (Peggy Something-or-other, the Town Crone, is speaking):

It says, in small letters at the end of the {Domesday Book} entry {about their dreary little village}, barely legible but I've seen a photograph of it, Puer Toothwort.

Oh Peggy, I tut, you rotter, what a load of old bollocks.

It says it, Peter. It is written. He's been here as long as there's been a here. He was young once, when this island was freshly formed. Nobody was truly born here, apart from him.

So he's older than you? Surely not. Right then, must deliver this little artist home to his parents.

Night night, Peggy, sweet dream, sings Lanny.

Sleep well good child, she says. Sleep well, Mad Pete, and she winks.

Now, are you there YET?! Seriously, do. you. get. where. the. train. is. headed.

Oh, and the horriblity of the w-bomb puts the moldy cherry on the shit sundae with extra worms we're being served, doesn't it.

p96 (Pete is speaking again):

The sound in the village was all wrong. I went for my walk around the block and got the ill feeling and hurried back. The darkness was uneven, slippery. I sought refuge in my kitchen but the pressure between different objects in my house was all wrong. Something was bad. I had a glass of drink on the table, a newspaper and a pen, and the three of them were fit to lift off and explode. Things were closing in.

Now. Not even the most backward, most challenged reader can possibly misunderstand The Import of that last sentence. Wait...can't count on it...best explain: PETE IS SOMEHOW AWARE THAT HE'S ABOUT TO BE BLAMED FOR A BAD BAD THING. Would you care to guess what that bad bad thing is, who the bad bad thing relates to? Anyone?

Now there are two more sections of this overblown sludge. I read them, but honestly, I do not think you need to. If you don't already know what happens, and allow me to assure you that there is indeed A Twist, please send me a message and I'll tell you.

Or I'll mess it up so the shy can still read it: Lanny survives to adulthood but Jolie the actress/novelist divorces tedious Robert and by goddesses they are well and truly better apart. The Toothwort thing doesn't end, it just stops. There's Pete and Lanny (now called something else) drawin' and drankin' in the purged-of-evil woods.

Seriously. We go all this fucking way and there are pages of typographical shenanigans and THAT. IS. FUCKING. IT.

I think Author Porter deserves some serious kudos for making the points he makes about how the very bones of reality are malevolent in some deeply alien ways. He doesn't spend a lot of time soppily sloshing tears and humidly summoning sobs, either, so there's that going for him. Hence all three of my stars. Seriously? Spare yourself. If this wins the (now-Man-less) Booker I'll eat your hat.

FLASH 3 SEPTEMBER 2019

But the news is *excellent*: This book wasn't on the shortlist!