Alice Hoffman is an author that I’ll take a chance on, even if the book jacket kind of wants to dissuade me.
Maybe it’s the inclusion of the word ‘confession’ – in my fiction, I prefer secrets to confessions. Confessions are bared souls, emotional fights, selfish, vulnerable and sometimes embarassing to behold. (Could by why I’m having trouble with a particular chapter in my book that contains a big reveal. Eek! Messy.)
Or it could have been the combination of a skylight with a confession. Clearly the skylight itself is not going to confess anything. (Or will it? This is Alice Hoffman we’re talking about.) I feared a lot of looking up through a skylight, mopey contemplation of the stars in the sky, etcetera, ad nauseum.
But Hoffman wrote it so I plunked down 50 cents and took it home.
The inner jacket description didn’t help.
Here is a family so real, so tragic, so devoted, it is as if they have written then own riveting history – a quest for love and truth. Glass breaks, love hurts, and families make their own rules. No one who reads this book will ever forget it or look at their own family in quite the same way.
Logically, I understand that Hoffman did not pen this lovely paragraph. Needless to say, the novel was shelved for over six months. I really wanted something new to read, something that wouldn’t make me get all existential or whatever and I found it. Took a chance.
Thank god the book is way better than the silly dust jacket make it sound.
More on that later. Links time!
An interview with Alice Hoffman about Skylight Confessions.
P.S. This is a ghost story.