There’s a lot to like here, with the same kind of sharp observations and honesty that makes her novels work. She talks about husbands who just don’t, whether it’s picking up paper towels or participating in marriage, while their wives do all the adulting. And honestly, haven’t we all met this couple before? There’s also a lot about the enduring value of female friendships.
Bushnell’s novels drip with wealth and privilege, and it’s usually such great fun to slip into that world. Here, though, it was hard to go along with the anecdote about multi-thousand-dollar facials, because it felt like a tone-deaf complaint about pushy salespeople. (Geez, even the girl friends buying houses in the same stylish town seems like a hopelessly unrealistic dream for our generation.)
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