Oy.
TW picked up The Last Original Wife at the same time that she picked up the Fannie Flagg novel. If we’re going to be on a novels about Charleston kick, we might as well go all out, right?
Except, I’m not really a very big fan of Dorothea Benton Frank. I don’t HATE her books but I don’t generally love them, either. She does write well about Sullivan’s Island, and I appreciate that but… no. I just don’t love her books. And, anything called The Last Original Wife should have been a clue that I was not going to be in love, right?
Right. I wasn’t in love.
I appreciated that Leslie finally figured out that her marriage was crap. Her husband was an ass. And Atlanta wasn’t where she belonged. I laughed out loud twice — once when she bought the red Benz and I can’t actually remember the other time (probably something about the damn dog or the interesting gay brother) but hell. I just didn’t love the book.
I appreciated the Josephine Pinckney story thread but that was about it. I’d have been happier with a book about the gay guy in Charleston than I was about this one. Ho hum.