I think I’m done with Liane Moriarty. I had a lot of fun reading Big Little Lies, and Truly, Madly Guilty and I had fun reading this one, too. But it’s all the same book and the same reading experience: rich, white ladies encounter some soft tragedy and have their Tupperware selling businesses disrupted as a consequence. Okay, it’s not charitable (or accurate, I guess) to suggest the novels are pure fluff. Each one has some thread of interesting moral quandary to sort out (in this one it’s the question of whether you’d turn in your partner because it’s the right thing to do even if it meant disrupting your own life, too) and the books are reasonably well written. I guess I’m just done with pretending like the drama faced by these super privileged characters is anything approximating substantive social commentary or inviting genuine emotional connection. It’s more akin to watching well produced television with glossy sets full of artisan pottery dishes and buckets of fresh cut flowers on every available surface, complete with the cast of freckled munchkins and a stay-at-home dad with a dish towel over one shoulder and an well-timed humour. Meanwhile the women struggle to have it all, and do it all, and be it all and I’m just not interested. anymore. I really did enjoy the first few books by Moriarty, maybe because I could delude myself into thinking they had substance… All this said I’d still say if you’re packing for a flight or the cottage or a weekend with your in-laws, there’s a lot of enjoyment to be had in slipping in to one of these books. Just be prepared to come out the other side feeling like your teeth are fuzzed over.