I’ve now read three Liane Moriarty books and enjoyed them all, including this latest novel which is probably the funniest so far, and a perfect summer read to take to the beach. Most of the times I take a book or magazine with me to the beach I actually don’t end up reading it, but I was glued to this one.
Another compulsively readable novel from the author of Big Little Lies. I forgot to take a book with me on our recent weekend getaway to Tasmania, so I had to pick something at the airport fast. As a light holiday read this was perfect (I got it as a buy-one-get-second-halfprice deal with Gillian Flynn’s Sharp Objects, but that one is bound to be less fluffy for sure).
This was a perfect book to spend time with while staying in bed with a nasty head cold: entertaining, fast-paced, insanely readable, deftly mixing froth and humour with heavier subjects like bullying, domestic abuse and single parenthood. My view of the novel is inevitably coloured by the excellent HBO mini-series, which I watched first, so I can’t help but compare. “The book is better” is a very routine remark about onscreen adaptations, but in this case I thought that both versions had their particular strengths and weaknesses.