Dunbar by Edward St. Aubyn

Dunbar

‘I really did have an empire, you know,’ said Dunbar. ‘Have I ever told you the story of how it was stolen from me?’Henry Dunbar, the once all-powerful head of a global corporation, is not having a good day. In his dotage he handed over care of the family firm to his two eldest daughters, Abby and Megan. But relations quickly soured, leaving him doubting the wisdom of past...

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Dunbar Reviews

  • Rebecca Foster

    An underwhelming

    adaptation. Didn’t Jane Smiley already give us a less caustic version of this daughters-fighting-over-the-family-business scenario (

    )? St. Aubyn’s Lear stand-in is Henry Dunbar, an 80-year-old who peddled hate as a North American media mogul and whose two dastardly daughters have committed him to a sanatorium in the north of England. Here Dunbar communes with Peter Walker, the alcoholic comedian in the next room (the Fool figure) and spits out all his p

    An underwhelming

    adaptation. Didn’t Jane Smiley already give us a less caustic version of this daughters-fighting-over-the-family-business scenario (

    )? St. Aubyn’s Lear stand-in is Henry Dunbar, an 80-year-old who peddled hate as a North American media mogul and whose two dastardly daughters have committed him to a sanatorium in the north of England. Here Dunbar communes with Peter Walker, the alcoholic comedian in the next room (the Fool figure) and spits out all his pills; he may have had a moment of madness out on Hampstead Heath, but he still has it all together and is determined to keep Abigail and Megan (Goneril and Regan) from privatizing the Dunbar Trust to their own profit. After he and Peter escape as far as the pub, Dunbar keeps going: out onto the snowy wastes of the Lake District, where he has a possibly hallucinatory meeting with a disgraced vicar (Chapter 11, the highlight of the book) and sleeps under a rock ledge.

    It is Dunbar and his emotional awakening and reconciliation with Florence (Cordelia) that power the book. The other two sadistic, nymphomaniac daughters (they “require ever-escalating doses of perversion to stimulate their jaded appetites”) and their henchmen are too thinly drawn and purposelessly evil to be believed. Florence is given a tiny bit of backstory via the son of her father’s right-hand man to make her more interesting than just the goody-goody scapegoat. The Gloucester/Edmund/Edgar subplot is avoided entirely, although Wilson is a bit like Gloucester and Dr. Bob a bit like Edmund.

    St. Aubyn uses some direct literary quotations (“sleep that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care” –

    ; “not born to sue but to command” –

    ; “thou shouldst be living at this hour” – Wordsworth) and at least one very closely adapted one from

    itself (“who can tell me who I am, who I really am?”) to good effect. Beyond that, though, there are only very occasional interesting lines (“That’s all a sunset was: an exultation of dirt and dust”; “Being alive is falling, once you know that, it never stops”), with far too much business-speak and too many porn-lite sex scenes thanks to Abigail and Megan. A couple of extended metaphors felt excruciating: “Bloated on her father’s love, she was like a grazing cow that wanders onto the railway tracks just as a high-speed train is coming round the bend” and “Like a swimmer blowing the water from his flooded snorkel before returning to the reassuring, amplified rhythm of his breathing, Dunbar threw off the weight of his dream.”

    I’ve felt this way with a few of the Hogarth Shakespeares now: what’s the point when I could just go back and read the original? (Whereas Tyler, Chevalier and Atwood have written what are actually enjoyable novels in their own right.) I think I might just do that, actually, given that I only read

    once, 14 years ago.

    -ish stars

  • Roger Brunyate

    By what criteria are we to judge the novels in the Hogarth Shakespeare Series? This is the sixth to be published, and the question only gets more puzzling with each one. Famous authors are asked to write fiction based on a Shakespeare play. It would not be fair to call them straight retellings, as almost all the writers have felt free to go off in their own directions. Think of them rather as riffs on a theme. But for what purpose: to parallel the Shakespeare original, or to be

    By what criteria are we to judge the novels in the Hogarth Shakespeare Series? This is the sixth to be published, and the question only gets more puzzling with each one. Famous authors are asked to write fiction based on a Shakespeare play. It would not be fair to call them straight retellings, as almost all the writers have felt free to go off in their own directions. Think of them rather as riffs on a theme. But for what purpose: to parallel the Shakespeare original, or to be strong novels in their own right? On those criteria, I would say that all of them fail; there is not a single one that comes close, even as a translation of Shakespeare, and all would surely be considered relatively minor works in their authors' oeuvre.*

    So the best one can hope, I think, is for some kind of compromise: that the modern writer illuminates the Shakespeare in some way, or that the Shakespeare parallel brings out the special qualities of the chosen author. Only one of the six, I believe, says anything valuable about Shakespeare, and that is Margaret Atwood's

    her riff on

    This works, I think, because Atwood centers her novel around a production of the play itself, and the metafiction rhymes surprisingly well with Shakespeare's farewell fantasy. My enjoyment of many of the others has mostly had to do with what the subject reveals about the author. While Howard Jacobson makes a mess of retelling

    in

    his focus on the Shylock character to explore Judaism in a Gentile world is as strong as anything else in his work. Anne Tyler's

    is an ingenious light-hearted take on a comedy,

    but it is nice to see the author letting her hair down. Jeanette Winterson's

    takes on a problem play,

    narratively, it too is a mess, but the author reveals personal connections with the subject that nonetheless give it authenticity of feeling. Only Tracy Chevalier's

    is a total failure, saying nothing significant about its model,

    and having little redeeming value of its own; it only confirms my growing suspicion that Chevalier is not the author that

    might have led us to expect.

    But the two comedies and even the two late plays are the easier ones. With

    Tracy Chevalier was faced with one of the four great central tragedies. Two of the others are scheduled as the next ones up: Jo Nesbø on

    in 2018 and Gillian Flynn on

    in 2021. It is interesting that both these are mystery authors (and very good ones) rather than writers of literary fiction; it may be that the gross mismatch between genres actually produces something rather exciting. Meanwhile, here is Edward St. Aubyn, who surely

    consider himself a literary novelist, faced with what I would consider the greatest Shakespeare tragedy of the lot,

    All right, by quoting one of Shakespeare's greatest speeches, I am setting the bar impossibly high. St. Aubyn's Dunbar, the Canadian media mogul, has just declared himself "non-executive chairman" of the mighty Dunbar Trust and handed over control to his daughters. Who have promptly put him into a psychiatric facility in the English Lake District. And it is there that we first meet him, telling his story to an alcoholic fellow-inmate, a professional comedian called Peter Walker. Peter is a splendid creation, absolutely in the mould of Lear's Fool; hearing his stream of one-liners in many voices made me hope that St. Aubyn might have found a close kinship with the original. Peter helps Dunbar to escape, but soon leaves him, leaving the old man to trudge alone over a mountain pass in a winter storm:

    If you know the original, you may find some amusement in the echoes. But you will also recognize the fatal flaw, that the quality that surely gives

    its supreme status—its moral scale—is entirely absent. There is a quality of excess everywhere in

    : the King's capriciousness, the madness that consumes him, the wildness of the setting, the violence and cruelty, and the Gothic malevolence of his two daughters, Goneril and Regan. Though St. Aubyn may fall short of the more existential qualities, he goes to town on the evil sisters; dysfunctional families, after all, are what he does. His Melrose novels may contain more than their share of familial horror, but here he uses Shakespeare as permission to go over the top. But without a balancing scale in

    aspects of the drama, the wanton violence and sexual perversity becomes merely nauseating.

    All right, forget Shakespeare's original, does

    work as a novel in its own right? Not for me. For one thing, St. Aubyn's delight in satiric cleverness (and he

    clever) gives the book a comic tone that ill-suits its subject, unless he were to have gone all the way and given it a similarly satiric ending. For another, it is simply confusing; there are too many characters, with all too forgettable names: Abby, Megan, Mark, Chris, Peter, Jim, Simon, Wilson, Kevin, and the despicable Dr. Bob. And most of all, because the novel is set in the world of high finance, with hostile takeovers, voting blocks, side deals, and insider trading. Perhaps someone more familiar with it—even St. Aubyn's core fans—might fare better, but for me it made one side of the plot virtually incomprehensible. Even the faithful youngest daughter, Florence, has been raised in this world, and must use its mechanisms to achieve justice for her father. While I saw St. Aubyn at least trying for some of the radiant simplicity that makes Shakespeare's Cordelia so heartbreaking at the end, his Florence never really won my sympathy, except in comparison to her terrible half-sisters.

    So a novel that has nothing to say about its original and does not hold together in its own right: two stars, or two and a half? Only St. Aubyn's ingenuity and fount of wicked wit persuades me to raise it to three.

    ======

    *A fellow reader has pointed out in a comment that Ian McEwan's

    may be the best of the lot. Although not part of the Hogarth series, it so fits its concept and scope that it is hard to believe there is no connection. And with the daring to go

    outside the box, by having it narrated by Hamlet as a

    McEwan both gives himself permission a comic masterpiece at least the equal of his previous comedy

    and casts some quite interesting light on Shakespeare's original by shining it at such an unusual angle.

  • Doug H

    Purely my initial reaction:

    Loved/hated it. Mostly admired it from a cool distance. Best of the new fall releases I've yet read, at any rate. Smart as hell, possibly too smart. Definitely much smarter than me. Currently googling "Dunbar Numbers" and wondering if I'm insane. My only consolation is the thought that the actually insane never wonder if they're insane...

    More rational review to follow at a later date. (So he says to himself.)

  • Roman Clodia

    Apart from a misstep with Othello, the Hogarth Shakespeare series of modern re-engagements with the plays has been excellent to date, and this is no different. It's both faithful and yet iconoclastic, and while purists may hate it, St Aubyn has made some bold and audacious moves to re-imagine a modern Lear as a Canadian media mogul, incarcerated in a care home by his wicked daughters and making a bid for freedom with Peter Walker, an

    Apart from a misstep with Othello, the Hogarth Shakespeare series of modern re-engagements with the plays has been excellent to date, and this is no different. It's both faithful and yet iconoclastic, and while purists may hate it, St Aubyn has made some bold and audacious moves to re-imagine a modern Lear as a Canadian media mogul, incarcerated in a care home by his wicked daughters and making a bid for freedom with Peter Walker, an old comedian who speaks in many voices but rarely his own.

    One of the things that this re-telling achieves is to bring out the latent comedy that always hovers beneath the surface of Lear but which modern performances tend to erase given its canonical status. This is Lear by way of Beckett - a bit Godot, perhaps more Endgame, a tragicomedy for sure, and one which made me laugh out loud at points (Megan, the Regan character, and her outrageous antics with Dr Bob, Kevin and J!). The laughter co-exists with the suffering, and stark moments ('Peter hanged himself in the shower early this morning'; Dunbar's acknowledgment of need and love: 'I think I can walk if you help me') take us straight back to the original.

    A daring enterprise on St Aubyn's part, and one which has paid off very well. Purists may well hate this iconoclastic reinterpretation that is Lear via Beckett - I liked it very much.

    Many thanks to Random House/Hogarth for an ARC via NetGalley.

  • James

    The Hogarth Shakespeare series of novels (6 now published and 2 more pending) are re-imaginings, re-positionings, rewrites, adaptations, inspired by, based on, the plays of William Shakespeare – call them what you will, are merely the latest addition to a centuries old tradition of translating, editing, changing, adapting and producing versions (in the loosest sense) of Shakespeare’s works. In some cases these have been laudable, inspired and in others – merely futile savagings, maulings and hac

    The Hogarth Shakespeare series of novels (6 now published and 2 more pending) are re-imaginings, re-positionings, rewrites, adaptations, inspired by, based on, the plays of William Shakespeare – call them what you will, are merely the latest addition to a centuries old tradition of translating, editing, changing, adapting and producing versions (in the loosest sense) of Shakespeare’s works. In some cases these have been laudable, inspired and in others – merely futile savagings, maulings and hack butcherings – be they theatrical, cinematic, operatic, ballet, animation, puppetry, graphic novels, comics and as many other formats as you can possibly imagine – you name it, it has been done.

    So, what Hogarth is doing is nothing new and I think approaching any adaptations of William Shakespeare’s plays, including this one – ‘Dunbar’ by Edward St Aubyn, has to be from the fundamental standpoint, understanding and acceptance that however great such a novel might be, it can never display the genius of the original play upon which it is based. Once that basic premise has been acknowledged, then the novel can be read and appreciated in its own right. Hence any charges that Hogarth novels, such as this one by St Aubyn, as being superficial by comparison to the genius of William Shakespeare – are of course correct, but importantly have really missed the point.

    What the Hogarth Shakespeare novels do with varying degrees of success is:

    a. Enhance our appreciation of the brilliance of the source material

    b. Encourage us to reconsider and revisit the original plays from perhaps a new or altered angle

    What many reviewers of ‘Dunbar’ have referred to is ‘A Thousand Acres’ by Jane Smiley (another novel which uses ‘King Lear’ as its framework) – however as I haven’t as yet read Smiley’s book, I am unfortunately unable to add to this particular part of the debate.

    What St Aubyn has done with ‘King Lear’ is to relocate and transpose the narrative into the world of a super-rich media mogul, the business empire, ostensibly the battle for the company, the legacy, for profit and share of the market – as opposed to the multi-layered battles delineated so brilliantly in ‘King Lear’. ‘Dunbar’ does follow the story of ‘King Lear’ quite closely (although clearly in a somewhat more simplified form). A drawback here therefore, is that those of us familiar with the story of Shakespeare’s ‘King Lear’ can therefore watch events unfold on St Aubyn’s ‘Dunbar’ with a certain amount of predictability. Although it is fascinating to see how St Aubyn does this – and does it well.

    The Hogarth Shakespeare series is a great (if not new) concept and has produced some fine works. The paradox and challenge is that yes, such novels will always and inevitably suffer by comparison to the original plays – but if we look beyond that, if we look at how the Hogarth novels shed a different light on the genius, the brilliance that was and always will be William Shakespeare.

    What St Aubyn has here therefore is the particularly hard and unenviable task of writing something ‘based on / inspired by’ etc William Shakespeare’s ‘King Lear’ – arguably the greatest play by the greatest playwright in the English (or possibly any other) language ever – it’s a tall order to say the least. For the most part St Aubyn is successful, he has produced a gripping, thought provoking thriller which has an undeniable power of its own – an impressive novel. If what St Aubyn has managed to do is to even hint or convey something of the genius, the profound and elemental power of Shakespeare’s ‘King Lear’ – then he has been successful. ‘Dunbar’ is a welcome and impressive addition to the series, which continues to show us the everlasting brilliance of William Shakespeare.

  • Susan

    This is one of the Hogarth Press series of Shakespeare modern adaptations and, in this novel, we have Edward St Aubyn (best known for the Patrick Melrose novels) re-imagining “King Lear.” Now, I must admit that St Aubyn is one of my favourite authors and so I am probably more inclined to enjoy this than those readers who are looking at it from the point of view of the original and how it has been portrayed. St Aubyn has to be in my top ten favourite authors and I never open a new novel by him wi

    This is one of the Hogarth Press series of Shakespeare modern adaptations and, in this novel, we have Edward St Aubyn (best known for the Patrick Melrose novels) re-imagining “King Lear.” Now, I must admit that St Aubyn is one of my favourite authors and so I am probably more inclined to enjoy this than those readers who are looking at it from the point of view of the original and how it has been portrayed. St Aubyn has to be in my top ten favourite authors and I never open a new novel by him without feeling a shiver of anticipation.

    Here, we have Lear as Henry Dunbar, a Canadian media mogul, who has been sent for a ‘lovely long rest,’ at Meadowmeade, a care home in the wilds of the English countryside, where he is befriended by the alcoholic comedian, Peter Walker. Walker brings humour to this tragedy, as he encourages the befuddled Dunbar to escape. Having disinherited his beloved younger daughter, Florence, Dunbar has given the reins of power to his sadistic, vicious and spoilt daughters, Abigail and Megan. They are planning a coup to take total control, but their plans are thrown into disarray by Dunbar’s sudden disappearance. Along with Dunar's personal physician, ‘Dr Bob,’ they set off in pursuit, while Florence is intent on reaching him first and spiriting him to safety.

    St Aubyn uses all his dark wit in this novel, with an interesting cast of characters. Dunbar has a sense of betrayal, compounded by his own guilt and grief. Meanwhile, those he betrayed - Florence and Dunbar’s long serving friend, and business ally, Wilson, who was summarily sacked by him, along with Wilson’s son, Chris, are the only ones who really care what happens. Even if you read this as a novel, without knowing about the Shakespeare connection, it works really well. It is truly modern; full of hostile takeovers, with everyone trying to stab everyone in the back, out for themselves, and with a real sense of family betrayal. I personally think St Aubyn does a good job of getting a sense of the original story and moving it to the present, but obviously this depends upon your own view of how well this is realised.

    This is the first of the Hogarth Press Shakespeare novels that I have read, but I am now interested to read more in this series. I received a copy of this book from the publisher, via NetGalley, for review.

  • Paromjit

    I first read King Lear when I studied it at school, it is my favourite Shakespeare play despite its deep darkness. It is an epic tale and tragedy, a traumatic, troubling, and gruesome story of a man more sinned against than sinning. Edward St. Aubyn has a monumental task in writing a contemporary reinterpretation that can match how I feel about the original and its emotional place in my heart. The truth is he cannot do that, but he has captured distinct elements from the original and weaved a di

    I first read King Lear when I studied it at school, it is my favourite Shakespeare play despite its deep darkness. It is an epic tale and tragedy, a traumatic, troubling, and gruesome story of a man more sinned against than sinning. Edward St. Aubyn has a monumental task in writing a contemporary reinterpretation that can match how I feel about the original and its emotional place in my heart. The truth is he cannot do that, but he has captured distinct elements from the original and weaved a different beast, beautifully written, imbued with the darkest of humour, and which cannot fail to enthrall. It has a Canadian Media Mogul in his eighties, Henry Dunbar, a flawed man, used to being in a position of command, whose rage and temper has him disinheriting his beloved youngest daughter Florence in favour of his ambitious and greedy older daughters, Abigail and Megan, with their instinct to flatter and ability to be disingenuous. Aided by Dr Bob, Dunbar's physician, Abigail and Megan betray their father, divesting him of all power and have conspired to have him hidden and medicated in a psychiatric/care facility, Meadowmeade, in the Lake District.

    St. Aubyn's most masterful creation in this novel is the raging alcoholic and depressed comedian, Peter Walker, the fool to Dunbar, a man from whom insights tumble out, and who never once plays his own authentic self in his efforts to escape from himself. He is busy being a myriad of other characters, such as John Wayne and a Nazi. Peter hatches an escape plan which they manage to put into action. Dunbar has a fragile sense of self, he wants his old life and position back. He ends up alone, he feels an aching need to be solitary, to meet himself for the first time as he is. He is metaphorically naked, frozen amidst an icy snowstorm. He becomes conscious of his misdeeds and sin, his part in shaping his eldest daughters and his shame in his corporate actions. He is undone by his catastrophic errors in the sacking of his close friend and advisor Wilson and his unbearable betrayal of Florence, the two people who really cared about him. In the meantime, Abigail and Megan call on their vast resources to locate Dunbar to ensure he is no threat to their future plans. Florence is determined to find her father first.

    This is a terrific reinterpretation which I thoroughly enjoyed reading. It is dark, intelligent, comic and funny, particularly when it dwells on the twisted sexual proclivities of Megan and Abigail, and Dr Bob, their sexual plaything. It captures the heinous actions that often go into the building of the modern corporations, just how Dunbar came to be who he is, his dawning horror that he is the architect of his own desperate misfortune. I think there will be those who will not like this reinterpretation, but I don't compare it with the original, I see it as a work of art in its own right, and the author has done a great job using King Lear as the source of inspiration. Brilliant and highly recommended! Many thanks to Random House Vintage.

  • Eleanor

    , like most of the Hogarth Shakespeare series, fails for several reasons. Most particularly, it fails because it entirely lacks a moral component, and—relatedly—any sense of universality. Shakespeare's Lear is a King, of course, so hardly an Everyman, but the actors who play him have the opportunity to invest him with the most human of fears: "O, let me not be mad". Dunbar says this too, but St Aubyn doesn't give him the chance to be an Everyman; instead he's an aggressive and deeply unple

    , like most of the Hogarth Shakespeare series, fails for several reasons. Most particularly, it fails because it entirely lacks a moral component, and—relatedly—any sense of universality. Shakespeare's Lear is a King, of course, so hardly an Everyman, but the actors who play him have the opportunity to invest him with the most human of fears: "O, let me not be mad". Dunbar says this too, but St Aubyn doesn't give him the chance to be an Everyman; instead he's an aggressive and deeply unpleasant media mogul who's suffered a drug-induced psychotic break. Where is the tragedy in this? Where is the audience's self-identification with the fallen man, the terror and the catharsis? Glimpses of Dunbar's childhood—a cold and distant mother, a stint in provincial Winnipeg—might have made this possible, but St Aubyn never does more than glance at them. (The mother, clearly, is meant to explain some of the Lear story's misogyny). I'm left wondering, as always, whether this is an inherent problem of form; whether these stories are so plainly play-shaped that making them into novels is doomed; or whether there is something about

    attempting to adapt Shakespeare that makes even revered writers choke; or whether (shall we whisper it?) these writers have been ill-chosen, whether they have been selected on the basis of name recognition or other dubious merits, and whether the Hogarth committee ought to have looked further afield for their project. It is clearly not impossible to write an excellent novel that brings the concerns of

    into the present day: Preti Taneja has just done so, in

    . But maybe we ought to stop expecting such a thing from established literary names. There have been too many disappointments already.

  • Sid Nuncius

    I thought Dunbar was excellent. I approached it with a little trepidation because a modern re-imagining of the King Lear story could have been worthy or turgid or forbidding or just plain terrible. In fact I found it gripping, witty, touching and very readable.

    Henry Dunbar, the Lear character, is a billionaire media mogul and the machinations of the characters are in the business and financial worlds which, given the events of the last couple of decades, works extremely well. In the characters o

    I thought Dunbar was excellent. I approached it with a little trepidation because a modern re-imagining of the King Lear story could have been worthy or turgid or forbidding or just plain terrible. In fact I found it gripping, witty, touching and very readable.

    Henry Dunbar, the Lear character, is a billionaire media mogul and the machinations of the characters are in the business and financial worlds which, given the events of the last couple of decades, works extremely well. In the characters of Abigail and Megan (Goneril and Regan), St. Aubyn catches the lazily indignant sense of entitlement and the unthinking, self-absorbed cruelty of the over-privileged sisters. Dunbar escapes from an institution in the Lake District to which these two have secretly committed him, and we get a brilliant picture of a disintegrating mind as he wanders the fells…and so on.

    The plot is recognisable without being slavish to the original, and St Aubyn uses it for some very well-aimed barbs at modern finance, the behaviour of the super-rich and other aspects of contemporary life. He writes beautifully, in prose that is elegant but simply carries you along without drawing self-regarding attention to itself. I marked lots of neat passages and phrases, like an institution which "could not keep up with the modern demand for a place in which to neglect the mad, the old and the dying," or the rich, powerful man who "knew what it was to be surrounded by a halo of hollow praise," which seemed especially apt in 2017. The humanity and pity of the play are all there, too, and in the context I found, "Florence, is that you? I've been looking for you everywhere," every bit as moving as,

    " Do not laugh at me;

    For, as I am a man, I think this lady

    To be my child Cordelia"

    which for me is really saying something.

    In short, I found Dunbar readable, gripping, witty, moving and insightful and I can recommend it very warmly.

    (I received an ARC via NetGalley.)

  • Dannii Elle

    This is the most recent of the Hogarth Shakespeare series instalments, which rework one of the bard's infamous plays.

    Dunbar is the reborn story of King Lear. The central character is, as in the original, also the title of the piece. Henry Dunbar resides in a nursing home with only the jovial yet nonsensical Peter for companionship. His enterprise and fortunes have made their way to his two greedy daughter's outstretched hands and he is seemingly unable to stop it, in his current predicament. He

    This is the most recent of the Hogarth Shakespeare series instalments, which rework one of the bard's infamous plays.

    Dunbar is the reborn story of King Lear. The central character is, as in the original, also the title of the piece. Henry Dunbar resides in a nursing home with only the jovial yet nonsensical Peter for companionship. His enterprise and fortunes have made their way to his two greedy daughter's outstretched hands and he is seemingly unable to stop it, in his current predicament. He plans to escape and a mad dash ensues, in which it remains unclear who shall reach him first - the greed-driven and self-serving duo, or the one remaining daughter with love remaining for the father she thought lost?

    I found this too true to the original story to make any suspenseful reading. This was, of course, the story's aim but others in this series, that I have read, have also imbibed some sense of their own personality. I found this to appear a more regulation retelling, in comparison. The modern-day scenario was a little too predictable but this still remained an entertaining read, if removed from the association with its basis.

    I received a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review. Thank you to the author, Celeste Ng, and the publisher, Little Brown Book Group, for this opportunity.


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