Well, if those who can do and those who can’t, read about it…than I read this book specifically because I can’t (it seems) go road tripping through California. Clem can, because Clementine Jasper was born with a silver spoon shoved so far up her…ok, ok, let’s just say Clem has a lot of money and no clue. No clue what to do with her life, her education, her money. She just sort of exists. Drifts through life, if you will, she is the eponymous Driftwood. Although she is well past the age when that might be considered cute. The money comes from her father, a famous musician, a seemingly picture perfect family man, who, among other things, has managed to love his daughter into uselessness by constantly validating all her life choices or lack of thereof with some hippieish cosmic fate ramblings. And then, suddenly, papa Jasper dies, leaving his family his wealth and warm fuzzy memories and leaving Clem specifically a bundle of letters. Well, a relatively small bundle of eight long winded rambling letters that she is meant to follow as destinations. In a way she gets to retrace her father’s most significant locales from his life journey, since she has failed to make any of her own, presumably this’ll set her on some course of action personally and/or professionally. So Clem gets into her fancy daddybought Mercedes and drives. In all that California sunshine. The huge mystery reveal is saved until the very end, but this isn’t a sort of novel where it would matter. Clem will always be a daddy’s girl and daddy Jasper will always be that mythical sunbaked slice of Americana and they’ll always have music and, of course, California. And as much as I theoretically love Cali, it’s difficult to extend that love (or even any pale shade of it) to the book. It’s just that…it’s difficult to hate either. The book is very much like Clem herself…a nonentity, pleasant enough, but dimensionless and kind of bland. A vacant vacation. Surely, being pleasant isn’t enough for a book to be good. It’s a love letter to California, certainly, the state much like the protagonist a sort of pretty, sun dappled blonde of relatively good cheer and not much more. Maybe it’s a very young book. Maybe Clem is very young for her age. Maybe she’s just idiot who’s only good at spending her daddy’s cash and crying, oh boy, does she cry a lot for a person who says they normally don’t. All those around her are also very nice and mild and pleasant and not especially interesting or challenging. Daddy Jasper is theoretically the most interesting of the bunch, but he comes across laughable, his cosmic ramblings and hippieish double talk and new age silliness is piled on way, way too thickly to enjoy. In a way, the entire thing is almost comedic, the way there used to be a series of SNL sketches about a fictious soap opera Californians, but you know…this one isn’t actually funny. It’s just all too sunny and all too vapid with a zero for a protagonist. It makes you long for California, sure, but then again most things do, like this sh*tty global warming sponsored days and days of endless winter rain. Other than that, there’s no reason to read this book, although if you do, it’ll at least go by quickly. Even the author must have had an inkling, having put out no books in the 6 years since the publication of this one. Light enough to pass for ephemeral in substance with heavy handed morals and life lessons. The balance is all off. Pass.