The Good House

by Ann Leary

[Leah]

When I saw the email offering me The Good House by Ann Leary to review I was intrigued. It had some fabulous reviews attached to it, and I was quite interested to read a book about an alcoholic, as the last book I read about an alcoholic was amazing – Best Kept Secret by Amy Hatvany (a MUST read, lemme tell you; it dealt with alcoholism so, so well). But, it’s with a sad and heavy heart I must admit that although the novel had a good opening (it was what made me pick it up, I was curious to learn more about Hildy’s vision that allows her to tell a person from their home), it didn’t really fare very well for me.

Despite vociferous complaints to the contrary, Hildy Good is an alcoholic. After an intervention from her two daughters, she heads to rehab, and we meet her post-rehab. Where she’s clean, and sober, and lying her ass off. Because Hildy has realised something: if she drinks all by herself, at home, then there’s no one who can judge her and no one who can accuse her of being alcohol dependent. As long as she keeps up the facade, all will be well. She’s a real-estate agent who’s struggling to make the funds, and befriends new girl Rebecca, who’s just bought one of the most expensive houses in Wendover, in Massachussetts. But as long as Hildy keeps lying, things are going to keep happening and a night after a massive bender, she can’t remember what she did, where she went, or if she hurt someone. Can this alcoholic finally admit she needs help?

I didn’t necessarily think The Good House was a bad read, but I just don’t think it was for me. It started really well and there were bits of it I liked – the whole telling a person from their house thing, Hildy’s uncanny ability to be able to read a person, I initially liked and felt sorry for Rebecca McAllister, I even enjoyed reading about all the beautiful homes Hildy was selling and lived near. But it all seemed to fall apart as the novel progressed. Within the last 50 or so pages it became too complicated for its own good, and I lost interest completely. Hildy just seemed to be a rambling mess and I couldn’t decipher what Hildy was fantasising about or what actually happened. I am still confused even now. Rebecca McAllister became this weird, psycho bunny-boiler character and it sort of ruined her for me. Before that, I liked her, and it’s a shame really Leary took her character on the road it went down.

I think this is definitely a novel some people will enjoy. I didn’t mind Hildy too much, despite the fact she was so obviously in denial – hey, who am I to judge? Addiction, as people keep saying, is a disease and not everyone can admit they need or want help. I just wish the novel hadn’t strayed into such busy territory towards the end because it made my mind boggle. There was just a bit too much for me to keep up with, and I just felt the book sort of lost its way halfway through, which is a shame as it had such a promising start, and it seemed as if it was going to be a read I really enjoyed. This novel will have its fans, and it has loads already, but it wasn’t one for me, sadly.