In general, I'm not a fan of this type of "pop fiction," or "chick lit," whatever this genre's nom du jour is. The Island by Elin Hilderbrand is like cotton candy, fluffy and sugary with nothing really substantial to it. Plus, it's completely unrelateable to most readers. A totally narcissistic family, so engrossed in each of their own pleasures that they don't see other family members crumbling around them. Every conceivable human drama or tragedy is stirred into this story: suicide, divorce, rock climbing accident, engaged to one rich handsome brother but actually in love with his not-rich-but-still-handsome rock star brother...there's even some lesbian dabbling thrown in. "But how will that affect ME??" Wah, wah, wah. What a bunch of whiners! Compounding the dynamic is the fact that all of them are drowning in money, which, at the first sign of trouble, enables all of them to pack off and spend a whole month in the family's beach house on an island near Nantucket - ostensibly to HEAL - eating foie gras and raspberries delivered daily by a sun-bleached blond hunk of the month delivery stud (whose young wife is dead and who has left him with two impossibly cute tow headed boys). Wahh... what a terrible life. The cell phones don't get great service, proving that they're roughing it. Every venture each of them has tried in life has been wildly lucrative: the youngest food editor ever for a national magazine, a sought-after computer programming whiz...even the mom's divorce was amicable and generous . The fact that AFTER the success came the reality of some tragedy is supposed to make us sympathetic to the characters. Nope, not buying it. Most people don't even get to taste a morsel of the luxurious life these folks have enjoyed. If reality is too harsh for these immature, spoiled brats afterward, oh well. I gave this book a few pity stars because as a beach read, it's quick and escapist, without having to connect to the characters. In the end, everyone ends up deliriously happy, on the outside, at least. Looks good on the outside, but is it? Sort of like fat-free cheese. This was the first book I've read by popular author Elin Hilderbrand and will, most likely, be my last. I guess I got caught up in the whole "fun summer reading" whirlwind of excitement. That, and I am drawn to her novels' beautifully photographed covers. If you see me reading another book of this kind, please, for God's sake, slap it out of my hand and replace it with something by Chris Bohjalian! Gag. Bleah.
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