The portrait of a disturbing descent into madness, this novel centers on two brothers who live in a brownstone house in New York City with their sickly mother and who all have issuses with Ezra, the family’s patriarch. When Ezra suddenly dies from a massive a heart attack, the sons, Erwin and Maynard Sloane, decide to unearth a long-locked family chest. The contents, however, force the sons to look at themselves in a different light and ask themselves: will they succumb to the depravity that has haunted their family for generations, or can they be the first to break free from their family’s past?
I'm sorry. For all that this book promised humor, I found none. And for all that there was this "generational curse" thing, all I found was a bunch of imbeciles, cheaters, and weak men so proud of their misconduct that they wrote memoirs to celebrate it.
What's more, each generation reads those old memoirs and adds their own boastfully pathetic story to the "secret box."
I don't know what to say, honestly. Tragedy after tragedy and typically doomed characters all around.
There were two saving graces that brought this up to 2 stars: - Cultural appropriation is a cardinal sin in my book, but at least this author wrote about his own culture. Not sure what the story means about Americans, though. - American colonization and its unwarranted brutality was presented realistically.
Apart from that, I don't reccommend. I read the first half-ish carefully, hoping for SOMETHING to work, and then skimmed through to the end.