Introduction

“An impressive stylistic leap from her admired first novel. . . . Minot shows that she is not afraid to take risks to tease out from the beautiful bones of her story its marrow of suspense.”—Elle

A luminous, panoramic novel of family life—a beautiful, often hilarious portrait of motherhood and marriage—and a magnificent leap forward from the highly praised author of The Tiny One (“Minot has a sorceress’s ability to perceive the emotional spirits trapped in nature and a wild, unstrung, lyrical gift”—The New York Times Book Review).

This is the story of the Bramble family—Margaret, Max, and Edie—three adult siblings careening through wildly different byways of adult life. Margaret, mother of three, drowning in a sea of runny noses and lost mittens, is a nurturer with a sense of humor, a witty woman at wits’ end, about to take her ailing father into the tumult and chaos of her already overcrowded home. Edie, her younger sister, is a barely recognizable version of Margaret’s former self—young, single, clicking smartly down city streets in good shoes, but struggling mightily beyond her sister’s vision to anchor her desultory, and intensely solitary, life. Max, newly married, newly a father, is buckling under the weight of new responsibilities. Over the course of one critical season, a long hidden secret will be revealed, remaking each of them, and all they thought they knew about one another and about themselves.

Lyrical, emotional, and large-hearted—a sweeping and unfailingly precise depiction of the allegiances, as well as the miscommunications and misunderstandings, upon which we build our lives—The Brambles is ringing confirmation of Eliza Minot’s abundant gifts.

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Excerpt

Let's keep him," said Florence. They were about to sign the lease. "He looks like he likes it here."

In the flowerbed, a small cement statue, two feet tall, robed, bearded, in mid-step looks down at the rounded rim of the swimming pool. In one hand he holds a spade, in the other a plume of kale or chard. The house's previous occupants had left him. Or maybe the occupants before them. A frost of green moss along an eyebrow. Part of a finger fallen off. Coin-sized circles, charcoal gray, of lichen. ... view entire excerpt...

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