Tuesday, January 8, 2013

This is why I don't read litfic.

Every clause of this blurb further confirmed this as a book I would never, ever read:

Mothers and daughters ride the familial tide of joy, regret, loathing, and love in these stories of resilient and flawed women. In a battle between a teenage daughter and her mother, wheat bread and plain yogurt become weapons. An aimless college student, married to her much older professor, sneaks cigarettes while caring for their newborn son. On the eve of her husbands fiftieth birthday, a pilfered fifth of rum, an unexpected tattoo, and rogue teenagers leave a woman questioning her place.

That last sentence in particular sets up so much... and delivers a crashing anticlimax. The least it could do is finish with 'while standing in the ruins of her burnt-out house.'