It’s official: I’m severing all ties with Madeleine Wickham. After reading a few of her books and consequently wanting to shove most of them into a mud pit, hopefully to be swallowed whole, I’m placing her on Meg’s Banned List until I’m somehow convinced to give her a second chance.
And I can be rather stubborn about these things.
So here we have Sleeping Arrangements, a tawdry and droning little book centering on two families thrust together unexpectedly on holiday in Spain. Chloe is desperate to get away with her long-time partner, Philip, and their two sons. When an opportunity to stay at an old friend’s villa pops into their laps, Chloe eagerly accepts an invitation to get away for a much-needed break.
But when they arrive, she’s shocked to find another family already soaking up some rays on the property — and it just so happens she has quite the history with Hugh, a charismatic businessman who broke her heart more than a decade before. Hugh has his hands full with two young daughters and his wife, Amanda, a snotty and self-indulgent trophy wife who seems to be nothing more than a status symbol. And then the real fun begins.
I borrowed a copy of Sleeping Arrangements on audio from the library and listened to the whole novel quickly, though I can’t say it was with much enjoyment. These characters are annoying, spoiled and pretty insufferable. I felt zero empathy for Chloe or Hugh, both of whom acted like petulant children for most of the narrative. Philip was an affable dullard and Amanda a total twit, so that left me with . . . who? Jenna, the rebellious Australian nanny brought along to care for Amanda and Hugh’s squealing daughters? Sam, the teenage boy obsessed with what’s hidden beneath Jenna’s bikini? Gerard, the over-the-top snobby wine critic who masterminds this whole “mix-up”?
Eh. The whole novel just left a sour taste in my mouth. It’s all so faux angsty and ridiculous, and I couldn’t muster up an ounce of enthusiasm for this unhappy British lot. If I’d had my nose in a paperback or — shudder — a hardcover, I would have surely tossed it aside after just a few chapters. But since it was on loan and on audio, I stuck it out.
But would I recommend it? Only if you like your chick lit with a healthy dash of unpleasant, ridiculous characters and unfeasible situations. And I don’t think you do.
2 out of 5!
ISBN: 0312943970 ♥ Goodreads ♥ LibraryThing ♥ Amazon ♥ Author Website
Audiobook borrowed from my local library
Alice Love — a Londoner, a lawyer, an all-around safe and ordinary individual — is about to change. It’s not enough that she’s worked hard to save for her dream home or tried to nurture a relationship with her eccentric father and his new wife, or her ethereal stepsister Flora. The Universe doesn’t care that she’s tried to years to move beyond her boring corporate law job and represent real talent at the agency where she works, and fate isn’t interested in watching her try to form a relationship with another disinterested guy.
One house in Silchester, England, brings together three unlikely groups of people in this novel of deceit, debt and escalating — but unrealized — hopes.
Best friends Tess Tennant and Adam Smith grew up in the tiny English town of Langford, made famous for its connection to author Jane Austen — and for its gorgeous vistas, including the historic water meadows. The meadows have been controlled for years by Leonora Mortmain, the daunting and severe old woman who has taken up permanent residence as an antagonistic old crone in the lives of Langford’s residents.
Life seems to be looking up for Holly Denham. Her adorable boyfriend, Toby, is suave and attentive; her receptionist position at a high-powered bank in London keeps her busy while also providing ample opportunity to socialize. But when Holly (finally!) earns a promotion, there’s someone eager to tear her down: Tanya, a snobby fellow manager with her sights set on Toby. And she’s ready to tackle Holly’s confidence to the ground just when her other relationships become tenuous. Can she hold strong?
They’re no wicked stepmonsters.
It’s official: I have a literary crush on Jill Mansell.






