Infinite Home, by Kathleen Alcott

In this touching pastiche of a novel, we are privy to the innermost thoughts of some wonderful characters. Thomas, Edward, Paulie, Claudia, Adeleine, Edith - all hurting in the way that we are all hurting, all the time, from childhood and life's wounds, some small, some big. Everyone is relatable, which is perhaps what I like most about this book. I don't have to love every character I read, nor do I need relatability to make a book enjoyable, but it's refreshing to read a literary novel populated by generally decent human beings.

Edith, their landlady and neighbor, is sinking quickly into dementia. Thomas was an artist but had a stroke and no longer paints. Paulie has Williams Syndrome, a condition marked by excessive, unending happiness, and his sister, Claudia, takes care of him. Edward is a washed up comic, while Adeleine hasn't left the house in 6 months, hiding in her apartment filled with antique ephemera. As Edith disintegrates, the tenants all grow closer to each other and try to claw their way through their own damage. I did have trouble in the beginning differentiating between some of the characters (Thomas and Edward especially), and the short chapter lengths didn't help. But once I got my sea legs, spending a year with this eclectic bunch was a delight, and I unabashedly cried at the end. I wish there were more novels like this, literary and full of depth but also full of good people, doing the best they can for themselves and each other.

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