I had such high hopes for this book. I had heard a review on NPR, I've always loved literary homes, and enjoy irreverence in the historic house world. And it started off great--I giggled, I smirked. It was good.
And then. . . it just wasn't. I think part of the issue is he was going for dark humor (ok by me), but there just wasn't enough humor to make up for the darkness. There were some moments of great writing, and then I would just become annoyed. And yet, I couldn't stop reading.
I am still thinking about the conclusion (in particular, one especially disturbing moment) but it's not one of those good pondering situations. It's more like: Really?? That was how you decided to resolve the book? Seriously?
And it's never a good sign when you think about the basic idea and how you would have done it. Or how someone like David Sedaris would have done it.