Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

It’s not.

The important word in the title, you see, isn’t “cake” at all; it’s “sadness.”  Rose’s sudden ability, at nine, to taste the feelings and origins of who- and whatever is responsible for her food shapes her entire childhood and youth.  Her mother’s unacknowledged feelings choke her at dinnertime, and she desperately turns to junk food from vending machines for lunch.  Her brother, who seems definitively autistic, doesn’t relate to people in general, while her father seems buttoned into the stereotypical ‘Dad’ role of the 60s and 70s.  (Whether that’s the time frame covered seems to be anyone’s guess.)  She adores her brother’s best (only) friend, who does relate to people, and interactions with him seem to be about the only truly positive thread through most of the novel.  There are amusing bits, sort of, but for me they were tainted by the sadness of a child/teen/young adult forced to cope with extreme issues and emotions at much too young of an age.  And the ending?  Yeah, that was just plain weird.  If you want the sort of novel where none of the main characters are truly happy or quite as lovable as you want them to be–except for the brother’s best friend–then go for it.  (Or if you like odd endings with a sci-fi-ish twist.)  If you’re looking for the kind of magical realism in The Sugar Queen, on the other hand, look elsewhere.

Oh, and for the record?  Being read by the author did not enhance the book’s appeal.  Perhaps her interpretation worked okay because she knew the characters best, but the drawly, repetitive tones got old.  (On the other hand, listening to the book meant I didn’t have to deal with the lack of quotation marks referenced in more than one Goodreads review.  I have yet to see the book in which I find that more artistic than annoying.)