The cover of this book hints that it might be more exciting than it actually is. Is it the tornado? The Best Books of the Year sticker? Maybe it's both. But, this book, while well-written and somewhat interesting, didn't make me feel like chasing a storm.
I just read a review that said this book was about white male rage. The tornado blew that completely over my head. It must have been subtle, though I kind of see it now - only after someone else pointed it out to me. I saw this book as a narrative about families and the small moments that one day lead up to the big ones, despite the best (or mediocre) intentions of everyone involved.
The book switches perspectives often, reiterating the rather common plot technique that shows how much we write our own stories. The experiences from the mother's perspective were most relatable to me, of course. The experiences told from the male perspectives felt vaguer, yet somehow the more mundane appeared to affect them more. Thus the white male rage, I realize now.
A man is upset that his wife's successful book comes to overshadow him. But, her female friend is jealous of that, too. A teenage boy who has been shunned for years is jokingly welcomed back into the fold, only to predictably act out violently in the end.
The book is well written and constructed. But - no offense to Barack Obama, who named it one of his favorite books of last year - I found it boring.
Maybe I just didn't get it. Maybe I need the tornado.
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