With the retirement of Mrs. Lynch, Mrs. Taylor, and Mrs. Treacey, watering the plants has fallen to me. I hate doing it and will be offering them up to anyone who wants them at the end of the year. This book, of which we have two (see previous post about funding), sits directly below one of those green, crawling, leafy, potted things. Intrigued as to why we had two, I read the back and decided to add it to the waning pile for #bookadayjanuary.
Eh.
That's about all I can say. I honestly cannot see the merit in having two. My suspicion? One of my predecessors saw the title in a vendor catalog or on a site and jumped on it, knowing we needed memoirs for the seniors (again, see previous posts on the genre). Then it came in and oopsie, this is fiction. No blame, just a little oops.
This was predictable. It read very Hallmark movie-ish. There were also So. Many. Family. Issues. going on it detracted from Naomi's own issues (least of all being she can't remember the last 4 years of her life).
While I'm sure there are those who will like this (Cabot and Dessen fans for sure), it's not my cup of tea.
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All opinions expressed on this blog are solely those of Mrs W.
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