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The Good House: A Novel Paperback – October 1, 2013
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The Good House, by Ann Leary, is funny, poignant, and terrifying. A classic New England tale that lays bare the secrets of one little town, this spirited novel will stay with you long after the story has ended.
Now a major motion picture starring Sigourney Weaver and Kevin Kline!
Hildy Good is a townie. A lifelong resident of a small community on the rocky coast of Boston's North Shore, she knows pretty much everything about everyone. And she's good at lots of things, too. A successful real-estate broker, mother, and grandmother, her days are full. But her nights have become lonely ever since her daughters, convinced their mother was drinking too much, sent her off to rehab. Now she's in recovery―more or less.
Alone and feeling unjustly persecuted, Hildy finds a friend in Rebecca McAllister, one of the town's wealthy newcomers. Rebecca is grateful for the friendship and Hildy feels like a person of the world again, as she and Rebecca escape their worries with some harmless gossip and a bottle of wine by the fire―just one of their secrets.
But Rebecca is herself the subject of town gossip. When Frank Getchell, an old friend who shares a complicated history with Hildy, tries to warn her away from Rebecca, Hildy attempts to protect her friend from a potential scandal. Soon, however, Hildy is busy trying to protect her own reputation. When a cluster of secrets becomes dangerously entwined, the reckless behavior of one person threatens to expose the other, and this darkly comic novel takes a chilling turn.
- Print length320 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherPicador
- Publication dateOctober 1, 2013
- Dimensions5.4 x 1 x 8.2 inches
- ISBN-109781250043030
- ISBN-13978-1250043030
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Editorial Reviews
Review
“A layered and complex portrait of a woman struggling with addiction, in a town where no secret stays secret for long.” ―The New York Times Book Review
“Fresh, sharp and masterfully told. Hildy's tale is as intoxicating as it is sobering.” ―People
“Hildy is an original, irresistibly likable and thoroughly untrustworthy....A genuinely funny novel about alcoholism.” ―Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
“Leary gleefully peels back the pretensions that so often accompany portraits of ye olde Americana, peering through the shingles to reveal a lobster-pot's worth of ensnared ties between townies and the newly entitled....The Good House is a good read.” ―USA Today
“Superstition, drama, and intrigue unspool at a perfect pace in Ann Leary's irresistible new novel, The Good House, a tale steeped in New England character and small-town social tumult.” ―Redbook
“One of the best works of Massachusetts fiction in recent memory.” ―Boston Magazine
“Ann Leary's The Good House creates a one-of-a-kind character in Hildy Good, and gives us a raw, first-person glimpse into the mind of a middle-aged, outspoken wry New England realtor so real she might be someone you know...yet who also is hiding her alcoholism from her family, her town, and herself. By the end you'll be flipping pages, trying desperately to piece together what happened as much as the narrator is doing herself.” ―Jodi Picoult, New York Times bestselling author of House Rules and Sing You Home
“Leary's genius is to give us a true original: Hildy, a not-so-recovering alcoholic/realtor who crashlands among a colorful cast of New England neighbors, but Leary also says a great deal about the houses we choose to live, the people we're compelled to love, and the addictions we don't want to give up. So alive, I swear the pages of this wickedly funny and moving novel are breathing.” ―Caroline Leavitt, New York Times bestselling author of Pictures of You
“I opened The Good House and was instantly sucked in; I read the whole thing in one sitting and was sorry when it ended. The story is atmospheric, funny, poignant, gritty, and romantic, and Hildy Good is refreshingly candid and lovably flawed.” ―Kate Christensen, author of The Great Man
“Leary's powerfully perceptive and smartly nuanced portrait of the perils of alcoholism is enhanced by her spot-on depiction of staid New England village life and the redemption to be found in traditions and community.” ―Booklist
“In Leary's third book...the perils of addiction come to life. Sure to please fans of women's fiction featuring women of a certain age such as the novels of Jeanne Ray and Elizabeth Berg.” ―Library Journal
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Good House
A Novel
By Ann LearyPicador
Copyright © 2013 Ann LearyAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-250-04303-0
one
I can walk through a house once and know more about its occupants than a psychiatrist could after a year of sessions. I remember joking about this one evening with Peter Newbold, the shrink who rents the office upstairs from mine.
“The next time you get a new patient,” I offered, “I’ll sneak to their house for a walk-through. While you jot down notes about their history, dreams, whatever, I’ll shine a flashlight into the attic, open a few cupboards, and have a peek at the bedrooms. Later, when we compare notes, I’ll have the clearer picture of the person’s mental health, guaranteed.” I was teasing the doctor, of course, but I’ve been selling houses since he was in primary school, and I stand by my theory.
I like a house that looks lived in. General wear and tear is a healthy sign; a house that’s too antiseptic speaks as much to me of domestic discord as a house in complete disarray. Alcoholics, hoarders, binge eaters, addicts, sexual deviants, philanderers, depressives—you name it, I can see it all in the worn edges of their nests. You catch the smoky reek of stale scotch and cigarettes despite the desperate abundance of vanilla-scented candles. The animal stench oozes up between the floorboards, even though the cat lady and her minions were removed months before. The marital bedroom that’s become his, the cluttered guest room that’s now clearly hers—well, you get the idea.
I don’t have to go inside the house to make a diagnosis; the curbside analysis is usually enough. The McAllister house is a perfect example. In fact, I’d love to compare my original observations regarding Rebecca McAllister with Peter. She was depressed, for one. I drove past the McAllisters’ one morning in late May, not long after they’d moved in, and there she was, out in the early-morning haze, planting annuals all along the garden path. It wasn’t even seven A.M., but it was clear that she had been at it for hours. She was in a rather sheer white nightshirt, which was damp with sweat and covered with soil. People were starting to drive by, but Rebecca had become so absorbed in her gardening that it apparently hadn’t occurred to her to put on some proper clothes.
I stopped and said hello from my car window. We chatted for a few minutes about the weather, about how the kids were adjusting to their new school, but as we talked, I sensed a sadness in the way Rebecca planted—a mournfulness, as if she were placing each seedling in a tiny plot, a tiny little grave. And they were bright red impatiens that she was planting. There’s always something frantic about that kind of bold color choice for the front of a house. I said good-bye, and when I glanced back at Rebecca through my rearview mirror, it looked, from that distance, like there was a thin trail of blood leading all the way from the house to the spot where she knelt.
“I told her I would do the planting, but she likes to do it herself,” Linda Barlow, the McAllisters’ landscaper, told me later that day at the post office. “I think she’s lonely up there. I almost never see the husband.”
Linda knew I had sold them the house, and she seemed to imply that I had been derelict, somehow, in assuring the healthy acclimation of one of Wendover’s newest treasures—the McAllisters. The “wonderful McAllisters,” as Wendy Heatherton liked to call them. Wendy Heatherton and I had actually cobrokered the sale. I had the listing; Wendy, from Sotheby’s, had the wonderful McAllisters.
“It takes time,” I said to Linda.
“I guess,” she replied.
“Wendy Heatherton’s having a party for them next weekend. They’ll meet some nice people there.”
“Oh yeah, all the nice, fancy people.” Linda laughed. “You going?”
“I have to,” I said. I was flipping through my mail. It was mostly bills. Bills and junk.
“Is it hard going to parties for you? I mean … now?” Linda touched my wrist gently and softened her voice when she said this.
“What do you mean, ‘now’?” I shot back.
“Oh, nothing … Hildy,” she stammered.
“Well, good night, Linda,” I said, and turned so that she wouldn’t see how red my face had become. Imagine Linda Barlow worrying about whether it’s hard for me to go to parties. I hadn’t seen poor Linda at a party since we were in high school.
And the way she pitied Rebecca McAllister. Rebecca was married to one of the wealthiest men in New England, had two lovely children, and lived on an estate that had once belonged to Judge Raymond Barlow—Linda’s own grandfather. Linda had grown up playing at that big old house, with those gorgeous views of the harbor and the islands, but, you know, the family money had run out, the property had exchanged hands a few times, and now Linda lived in an apartment above the pharmacy in Wendover Crossing. Rebecca paid Linda to tend to some of the very same heirloom perennials—the luscious peonies, the fragrant tea rose, lilac, and honeysuckle bushes, and all the bright beds of lilies, daffodils, and irises—that her own grandmother had planted there over half a century ago.
So while it was laughable, really, that she might worry about me, it was positively absurd that she pitied Rebecca. I show homes to a lot of important people—politicians, doctors, lawyers, even the occasional celebrity—but the first time I saw Rebecca, the day I showed her the Barlow place, I have to admit, I was a little at a loss for words. A line from a poem that I had helped one of my daughters memorize for school, many years before, came to mind.
I knew a woman, lovely in her bones.
Rebecca was probably thirty or thirty-one at the time. I had Googled Brian McAllister before the showing and had expected to meet an older woman. People must think he’s her father is what I thought then, except for the fact that there was something very wise and understanding about her face, a sort of serenity in her expression that women don’t usually acquire until their kids are grown. Rebecca’s hair is dark, almost black, and that morning it had been pulled up into a messy ponytail with a colorful little scarf around it, but it was easy to see that when she let it down, it was quite long and wavy. She shook my hand and smiled at me. She’s one of those women who smiles mostly with her eyes, and her eyes appeared to be gray one minute, green the next. I guess it had to do with the light.
She was a little thin then, but her whole frame is tiny, and she wasn’t as gaunt as she later seemed. She was petite. She was beautiful. She moved in circles, and those circles moved, same poem, although I still don’t recall the name of the poet, but she was one of those effortlessly graceful women who make you feel like an ogress if you stand too close. I’m not fat, but I could lose a few. Wendy Heatherton is slim, but she’s had all sorts of liposuctioning and flesh tucking. I don’t know who the hell she thought she was kidding when she was carrying on about that gallbladder operation a few years back.
It’s a well-known fact that the McAllisters had sunk a fortune into the yearlong renovation of the old Barlow place. Brian McAllister, for those who don’t know, is one of the founders of R. E. Kerwin, one of the world’s largest hedge funds. He grew up in the bottom of a three-decker in South Boston, with four brothers and a sister, and had become a billionaire before he turned fifty. Had he married somebody else, he probably would have been living in a mansion in Wellesley or Weston with a full staff, but he had married Rebecca, who, having grown up with a staff, and distant parents, liked to do things herself.
How do I know so much about the McAllisters? It’s not just from their house. I know pretty much everything that happens in this town. One way or another, it gets back to me. I’m an old townie; the eighth-great-granddaughter of Sarah Good, one of the accused witches tried and hanged in Salem. My clients love it when I drop that into a conversation. That I descend from the witch called, so delightfully and ironically, Goodwife Good. (Yes, I always laugh with them, as if it had never occurred to me until they said it, Good ol’ Goody Good, ha-ha.) That and the fact that my family has been in Salem and here in nearby Wendover, Massachusetts, since the 1600s.
My husband, Scott, used to tell me that I’d have been hanged as a witch myself had I lived in another time. He meant it as a sort of compliment, believe it or not, and it’s true, I do rather fit the profile, especially now that I’m on the darker side of middle age. My first name is Hilda, which my children have always told me sounds like a witch’s name, but I’m called Hildy. I live alone; my daughters are grown and my husband is no longer my husband. I talk to animals. I guess that would have been a red flag. And some people think I have powers of intuition, psychic powers, which I don’t. I just know a few tricks. I have a certain type of knowledge when it comes to people and, like I said, I tend to know everybody’s business.
Well, I make it my business to know everybody’s business. I’m the top real-estate agent in a town whose main industries are antiques and real estate. It used to be shipbuilding and clams, but the last boatyard in Wendover closed down more than thirty years ago. Now, those of us who aren’t living off brand-new hedge-fund money are selling inflated waterfront properties to those who are. You can still clam here—the tidal marsh down by Getchell’s Cove is a good spot—but you can’t make your living off clams anymore. Even the clams at Clem’s Famous Fried Clams are poured into those dark vats of grease from freezer bags shipped down from Nova Scotia. No, the best way to make money up here now is through real estate: the selling, managing, improving, and maintaining of these priceless waterfront acres that used to be marshland and farms but that were recently described in Boston magazine as “the North Shore’s New Gold Coast.”
Brian McAllister happens to own Boston magazine. The day we met, after I showed him his future house, he pointed to a copy of it folded up on the seat next to me in the car and said, “Hey, that’s my magazine you got there, Hildy.”
“Really? Oh well, take it. My copy must be around here someplace.”
“No.” Brian laughed. “I own it. Boston mag. I’m the publisher. Bought it last year with a friend.”
You’re a wicked big deal, a real hotshot is what I thought. I hate rich people. Well, I’m doing all right myself these days, but I hate all the other rich people.
“It’s one of my favorite magazines,” I said.
I was showing him a two-million-dollar house, after all, a house that I knew his wife had already gutted and restored in her mind; had mentally painted and furnished and plumbed and wired and dramatically lit during the few short days since I had shown it to her.
“I bet we can give you a special advertising rate in the real-estate section, if you want,” Brian said.
“That would be great, Brian, thanks,” I said.
And I hated him a little bit less.
Copyright © 2012 by Ann Leary
(Continues...)Excerpted from Good House by Ann Leary. Copyright © 2013 Ann Leary. Excerpted by permission of Picador.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Product details
- ASIN : 1250043034
- Publisher : Picador; Reprint edition (October 1, 2013)
- Language : English
- Paperback : 320 pages
- ISBN-10 : 9781250043030
- ISBN-13 : 978-1250043030
- Item Weight : 9.8 ounces
- Dimensions : 5.4 x 1 x 8.2 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #275,934 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #5,854 in Women's Domestic Life Fiction
- #7,978 in Contemporary Women Fiction
- #16,293 in Literary Fiction (Books)
- Customer Reviews:
About the authors
Ann Leary is the New York Times bestselling author of a memoir and three previous novels, including The Good House, which was recently adapted as a film starring Sigourney Weaver and Kevin Kline. Her work has been translated into eighteen languages and she has written for the New York Times, Ploughshares, National Public Radio, Redbook and Real Simple, among other publications.
Her new novel, The Foundling, will be published in May of 2022.
Ann Leary is the author of the memoir An Innocent, A Broad and the novel Outtakes from a Marriage. She has written fiction and nonfiction for various magazines and literary publications and is a cohost of the NPR weekly radio show Hash Hags. Ann competes in equestrian sports and is a volunteer EMT. She and her family share their small farm in Connecticut with four dogs, three horses, and an angry cat named Sneakers.
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Hildy Good has lived her whole life in Wendover, Massachusetts, an historic town on Boston's North Shore. She's proud of the fact that one of her ancestors, Sarah Good, was one of the first women hanged for witchcraft during the Salem trials, and many women in her family have claimed to have some type of psychic gift. Some people say Hildy can read minds, which isn't true--she's just really good at reading people and predicting behavior.
Except her own. This successful real estate broker has a bit of a drinking problem. Well, maybe more than a bit, as a year ago, her two daughters staged an intervention and sent her to rehab. Since then, she's always felt a little awkward at parties where everyone drinks--more because she feels people are staring at her than she's actually fighting the desire to drink. But there's nothing wrong with an occasional glass of wine at night when she's by herself, right? Right?
The problem about living in a small town is that you know everyone and everyone knows you. So when Hildy strikes up a friendship with Rebecca McCallister, a wealthy but lonely wife and mother, she sees this as a wonderful complement to her life. Until she realizes Rebecca's life is a little more complex than Hildy is interested in knowing. Meanwhile, Hildy is vacillating about her attraction to the least likely of men in town, and doesn't know what to do about that.
This book really has a little of everything. There's intrigue, illicit love, emotional discovery, missing children, and some great plot twists. More than a few times I wondered where Ann Leary was going to take her story and I enjoyed how it flowed. But more than that, I really loved Hildy's character. She's not always easy to love, although you understand more and more just why that is, but she's tremendously memorable, and I found myself completely engaged in her story.
This is a really well-written book that is sometimes moving, sometimes funny, and completely worth reading.
The Good House refers to the house Hildy Good grew up in. Hildy, a descendant of one of the accused Salem witches, is a 60 year old real estate agent in the town of Wendover. Hildy knows everything about the area, as she grew up here. She also raised her two girls in Wendover, though they have moved away. Publicly, Hildy is a recovering alcoholic, but not by choice. She believe she has found a kindred spirit when Rebecca McAllister moves to town with her family.
I can't reveal much more without spoiling it, but I really enjoyed the book. The characters are not one-dimensional at all. You could easily imagine meeting Hildy, Peter, Rebecca, etc. Each character is presented with attributes and flaws alike.
Some favorite moments:
*I had read the Betty Ford autobiography. You can't prove you're not an alcoholic once everybody has announced your affliction and tearfully told you how your "disease" has affected them.
*We're all so alike, yet we all think we're so unique. Most new lovers think that they're surrounded by magical coincidences, that they keep being brought together by fate.
*Here's the key again: Nobody wants to believe the obvious and visible reality that we are all quite the same. Most would rather believe in the invisible and the improbable - that fate is determined by the alignment of the stars, that there is a spiritual entity rooting for them, for unique and wonderful them, that humans can read minds, that their destiny can be foretold and possibly altered. The simple truth is this: Most humans are very much alike. The simple and obvious truth is that there are very few variables to what a person might do, think, fear, or desire in any given situation.
*You can't remove a person's denial for them. Denial is like a blanket surrounding a person who's, well, almost naked underneath. You can't just pull it off of them. You can't just expose them to the cold and all that shame. A person can only remove it for herself when she's ready.
I definitely will be reading more of Ann Leary's books.
Highly recommend.
Tension between locals and wealthy interlopers in a community that has recently become an "in" destination is nothing new, but it works well here and adds an interesting dynamic to this story.
There are good characters with small-town New England eccentricities that make them lovable despite their flaws. Hildy is an interesting narrator because she adds perspective from the locals' (she grew up in the community) and newcomers' points of view (which she gains through her real estate business).
The question of Hildy's alcoholism (is she a true alcoholic or not?) adds substance, but I will say that this is the lightest book on alcoholism I've ever read.
Amazon billed The Good House as "funny, poignant, and terrifying"...I would say it is funny at times (though not hilarious), definitely poignant, but in no way terrifying (have no idea where they came up with that one!).
For more reviews, check out my blog, Sarah's Book Shelves.
Phenomenal lesson and writing. So many layers to dissect.
Great read!
I might read it again !
Top reviews from other countries
When Tess and Emily saw that their mother had a drinking problem, they staged an intervention and Hildy was sent to Hazelden,a Rehab, for a month. After returning home, she feels that she has licked the problem. Hildy finds she no longer has the urge to drink. Her days are now full of things to do, but she feels lonely in the evenings. The town people don't seem to bother with Hildy like they use to. At parties, she feels uncomfortable and thinks people are watching her. One day, her daughter asks Hildy to go down to the cellar and dig up the old photos. While downstairs, Hildy finds a case of wine. She doesn't touch it, but when upstairs, the urge begins to take over. She thinks that one glass of wine does not make her an alcoholic. She feels she can manage it, if she drinks in moderation. But the urge is so strong and powerful and she finally gives in. She brings up a bottle of Merlot, dusts it off and has a glass of wine by the fire. She promises herself she will drink in moderation. It is evening and she feels lonely. After a drink or two or three, Hildy feels wonderful. She has finished the bottle of wine. She was once the top Real Estate Broker and now she will be working hard to get back on top again. Hildy is proud of the fact that one of her ancestors, Sarah Good, was one of the first women hanged for witchcraft in Salem. There is more about Hildy's background as you read on. Hildy claims that she can tell so much about people by walking through their home. People say she has psychic powers.
There is Frank Getchell, who has a garbage collecting business and he is well known as the fix-it man. He was the wealthiest man in Wendover, until the McAllisters moved in. Frank inherited landownership from his family and still lives in the same old run-down house. He still has the same old cars. He is so tight with his money that he squeaks. Frank and Hildy know one another since they were kids and Frank has always had a crush on her.
Newcomers to Wendover are Rebecca and Brian McAllister and their children. The McAllisters are now the richest residents in town. It was Hildy who sold them their home. Rebecca is a beautiful woman. She has won trophies for her riding skills. For some reason, she is not very well accepted by the ladies in town and feels lonely. Her husband works out-of-town all week and is only home on the weekends. Hildy and Rebecca become friends and they get together, sit by the fire, gossip harmlessly about the folks in town and enjoy glasses of wine.
Peter Newbold is the town Psychiatrist, married with children and sees Rebecca for her depression.
There are many twists and turns that make this book an interesting read. The main character Hildy Good is a likeable woman, feisty, kind and she is an alcoholic who is in denial. It is a constant battle with the bottle.
Ann Leary shows in her writing a sensitivity towards Hildy and her addiction, her loneliness and frustration with drinking. The writing is flawless and so beautifully written regarding the subject matter.
I enjoyed the Good House and highly recommend it to readers. I give it FIVE STARS.
it to be dark and sad. Not a bad read, just not for me. It started off well, and half way through
it became a jumbled mess. Narrated by the man character,who was unlikeable, it lacked more
dialogue. The ending was a bit to perfect, without no detail as to why certain decisions were made.
Not an enjoyable read.