When I first started reading the novel, I didn't get too far because it felt too slapsticky, too Hollywood. Weeks later, I decided to give it another try. Even though the book implies that it's about grieving and loss, in many ways it isn't, which is odd after reading the author's message at the end of the novel and having endured a few recent deaths. Maybe this book was more of a cathartic project for the author, a way to resolve and reflect on those deaths in a way that would move her forward.
The novel is about a young B-list actor who dies and how friends (if I were using the style of the author, I'd write "friends" in quotes) gather to go through his belongings. Our main character, Wren, his best friend since childhood, has a tendency to look at people, strangers, those she knows, and planning their funerals in her head, an obsession of sorts, and when she is faced with actually helping plan a funeral, she sees the friends of Stewart, the dead actor, as vultures wanting his goods to sell on Ebay, as people who are outdoing each other with showing their grief, competing to say who was the closest friend.
None of the characters come across as likeable, except for our brief encounter with a former high school friend who had gone to counseling with Stewart as teens. But she doesn't have a large role in the novel, except for dropping the hints that Stewart was depressed, which other people later reveal also, and it seems that Wren, for whatever reason, she does seem rather pre-occupied with herself, never notices.
The intended audience for this novel is probably young woman who like romance and humor, which may be why the novel didn't work for me. Everyone was catty, selfish, and oblivious. The plot was rather predictable, but I don't want to provide spoilers, but when I reached the end of the novel, I rather wished the novel started there, after the funeral, and then we may have had a novel with some depth.