Genre Fiction
![Anne Tyler - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B000APV4K0.jpg)
French Braid: A novel
From the beloved best-selling, Pulitzer Prize–winning author-a funny, joyful, brilliantly perceptive journey deep into one Baltimore family's foibles, from a boyfriend with a red Chevy in the 1950s up to a longed-for reunion with a grandchild in our pandemic present.
The Garretts take their first and last family vacation in the summer of 1959. They hardly ever leave home, but in some ways they have never been farther apart. Mercy has trouble resisting the siren call of her aspirations to be a painter, which means less time keeping house for her husband, Robin. Their teenage daughters, steady Alice and boy-crazy Lily, could not have less in common. Their youngest, David, is already intent on escaping his family's orbit, for reasons none of them understand. Yet, as these lives advance across decades, the Garretts' influences on one another ripple ineffably but unmistakably through each generation.
Full of heartbreak and hilarity, French Braid is classic Anne Tyler: a stirring, uncannily insightful novel of tremendous warmth and humor that illuminates the kindnesses and cruelties of our daily lives, the impossibility of breaking free from those who love us, and how close-yet how unknowable-every family is to itself.
The Garretts take their first and last family vacation in the summer of 1959. They hardly ever leave home, but in some ways they have never been farther apart. Mercy has trouble resisting the siren call of her aspirations to be a painter, which means less time keeping house for her husband, Robin. Their teenage daughters, steady Alice and boy-crazy Lily, could not have less in common. Their youngest, David, is already intent on escaping his family's orbit, for reasons none of them understand. Yet, as these lives advance across decades, the Garretts' influences on one another ripple ineffably but unmistakably through each generation.
Full of heartbreak and hilarity, French Braid is classic Anne Tyler: a stirring, uncannily insightful novel of tremendous warmth and humor that illuminates the kindnesses and cruelties of our daily lives, the impossibility of breaking free from those who love us, and how close-yet how unknowable-every family is to itself.
Editorial Reviews
"French Braid is a moving meditation on the passage of time . . . Five decades into her career, one gets the sense that Tyler is no longer quite so interested in the details. Instead, French Braid offers something subtler and finer, the long view on family . . . For all its charm, French Braid is a quietly subversive novel, tackling fundamental assumptions about womanhood, motherhood and female aging." -Jennifer Haigh, New York Times Book Review (cover)
"Brilliant . . . Captivating . . . The rich melody of French Braid offers the comfort of a beloved hymn . . . In novel after novel, Tyler catches the mingled strains of affection and exasperation that tie a family together, the love that persists somewhere between laughing and singing." -Ron Charles, Washington Post
"If Anne Tyler isn't the best writer in the world, who is?" -BBC Radio 4 Woman's Hour
"Few writers are so widely loved and respected as the creator of ‘family novels,' a genre Tyler has perfected . . . Her fans will be delighted . . . This is Tyler at her most Tyler-ish." -The Times (London)
"Lovely . . . The characters' hopes and struggles are relatable, and the novel shines with Tyler's signature compassion and comfort." -TIME
"Any Tyler book is a gift . . . Thoroughly enjoyable . . . Funny, poignant, generous, not shying away from death and disappointment but never doomy or overwrought, it suggests there's always new light to be shed, whatever the situation, with just another turn of the prism." -Observer
"The wonder of French Braid is the easygoing fluidity with which Tyler jumps and floats between characters and decades to create what in the end is a deftly crafted family portrait that spans some 70 years . . . We read in fascination." -Christian Science Monitor
"French Braid is a family saga of uncommon subtlety and grace, a novel which shows that, at 80, Anne Tyler is still amongst the very best writers around." -The Spectator
"Tender and acute . . . French Braid is a novel full of compassion for the human condition by a writer confident enough not to pin everything down and to trust her story to work its quiet magic." -Financial Times
"Full of piercing observation." -Minneapolis Star Tribune
"Subtle and powerful . . . A multi-layered and masterly exercise in sympathy and understanding." -Times Literary Supplement
"A beautiful novel of family life as it unfolds over the years . . . There are many authors today who try to emulate her technique, but none of them comes clos...
"Brilliant . . . Captivating . . . The rich melody of French Braid offers the comfort of a beloved hymn . . . In novel after novel, Tyler catches the mingled strains of affection and exasperation that tie a family together, the love that persists somewhere between laughing and singing." -Ron Charles, Washington Post
"If Anne Tyler isn't the best writer in the world, who is?" -BBC Radio 4 Woman's Hour
"Few writers are so widely loved and respected as the creator of ‘family novels,' a genre Tyler has perfected . . . Her fans will be delighted . . . This is Tyler at her most Tyler-ish." -The Times (London)
"Lovely . . . The characters' hopes and struggles are relatable, and the novel shines with Tyler's signature compassion and comfort." -TIME
"Any Tyler book is a gift . . . Thoroughly enjoyable . . . Funny, poignant, generous, not shying away from death and disappointment but never doomy or overwrought, it suggests there's always new light to be shed, whatever the situation, with just another turn of the prism." -Observer
"The wonder of French Braid is the easygoing fluidity with which Tyler jumps and floats between characters and decades to create what in the end is a deftly crafted family portrait that spans some 70 years . . . We read in fascination." -Christian Science Monitor
"French Braid is a family saga of uncommon subtlety and grace, a novel which shows that, at 80, Anne Tyler is still amongst the very best writers around." -The Spectator
"Tender and acute . . . French Braid is a novel full of compassion for the human condition by a writer confident enough not to pin everything down and to trust her story to work its quiet magic." -Financial Times
"Full of piercing observation." -Minneapolis Star Tribune
"Subtle and powerful . . . A multi-layered and masterly exercise in sympathy and understanding." -Times Literary Supplement
"A beautiful novel of family life as it unfolds over the years . . . There are many authors today who try to emulate her technique, but none of them comes clos...
Readers Top Reviews
Nan CunninghamSavann
Go inside the world of Anne Tyler and you will soon be in lockstep with familiar characters and places. The characters pull us in gently and then invite us to sit on the comfy chair to hear their story. Just like that French braid, after it is combed out, her stories stay with you, like crimped waves of hair.
David Treadwell
Tyler knows how to create interesting believable characters and their families. They evolve over times in a believable sometimes unpredictable way. I got bogged down a bit three-fourths of the way through, but then got back into it. That said, I seriously doubt that this book would have been accepted by a publisher today in the first place, if it hadn't been by Anne Tyler, a proven brand. It would be a very tough elevator pitch sell.
Carol Perreault
This is the story of a family with issues and how they dealt with each other. The mother wants to paint and virtually lives in her studio. The father doesn't know what to do about that.
Cindy MurphyCS
I have read a few other Anne Tyler books and saw that this book had been receiving rave reviews although not very many reviews. I am in the minority of most of the readers of this book. The book was described as a multi-generational story, which it was. However this is a pretty boring family who doesn't really like each other or spending time with each other. Nothing very exciting happens to them. The book starts out in the year 2000 and the first chapter really makes no sense being placed where it is. The next chapter goes to 1959 and covers one week of the family's life while on vacation. Each subsequent chapter is about a different family member and jumps up quite a few years in each chapter. Because of the huge year jumps new family members are born but it is hard to know who is who.
Charlotte LynnJ. v.
I really wanted to like or even love this book. I had heard so many great things about Anne Tyler and was so excited when I started reading French Braid. I did not love this book. I enjoyed the family dynamic, but I felt it was slow and there was not much going on. The family grew apart, yet they seemed to pretend to be okay. They downplayed so much about their family, things that should have been a bigger deal. They were worried about appearances way too much for my liking. They wanted to be a perfect family and put on that appearance for those around them and for each other. I am wanting to give Anne Tyler another chance and am excited to find another of her books to read and hopefully enjoy. **Thank you NetGalley for a copy of the book in exchange for an honest review.
Short Excerpt Teaser
1
THIS HAPPENED back in March of 2010, when the Philadelphia train station still had the kind of information board that clickety-clacked as the various gate assignments rolled up. Serena Drew stood directly in front of it, gazing intently at the listing for the next train to Baltimore. Why did they wait so long to post their gates here? In Baltimore, they told people farther ahead.
Her boyfriend was standing beside her, but he was more relaxed. Having sent a single glance toward the board, he was studying his phone now. He shook his head at some message and then flicked on down to the next one.
The two of them had just had Sunday lunch at James's parents' house. It had been Serena's first meeting with them. For the past two weeks she had fretted about it, planning what to wear (jeans and a turtleneck, finally-the regulation grad-student outfit, so as not to seem to be trying too hard) and scouring her mind for possible topics of conversation. But things had gone fairly well, she thought. His parents had greeted her warmly and asked her right away to call them George and Dora, and his mother was such a chatterbox that conversation had not been an issue. "Next time," she'd told Serena after the meal, "you'll have to meet James's sisters too and their hubbies and their kiddies. We just didn't want to overwhelm you on your very first visit."
Next time. First visit. That had sounded encouraging.
Now, though, Serena couldn't even summon a sense of triumph. She was too limp with sheer relief; she felt like a wrung-out dishrag.
She and James had met at the start of the school year. James was so good-looking that she'd been surprised when he suggested going for coffee after class. He was tall and lean, with a mop of brown hair and a closely trimmed beard. (Serena, on the other hand, came very close to plump, and her ponytail was almost the same shade of beige as her skin.) In seminars he had a way of lounging back in his seat, not taking notes or appearing to listen, but then he would pop up with something unexpectedly astute. She had worried he would find her dull by comparison. One-on-one, though, he turned out to be easy company. They went to a lot of movies together and to inexpensive restaurants; and her parents, who lived in town, had already had the two of them to dinner several times and said they liked him very much.
Philadelphia's train station was more imposing than Baltimore's. It was vast, with an impossibly high, coffered ceiling and chandeliers like upside-down skyscrapers. Even the passengers seemed a cut above Baltimore passengers. One woman, Serena saw, was followed by her own redcap wheeling a cartload of matching luggage. As Serena was admiring the luggage (dark-brown, gleaming leather, with brass fittings), she happened to notice a young man in a suit who had paused to let the cart roll past him. "Oh," she said.
James looked up from his phone. "Hmm?"
"I think that might be my cousin," she said in an undertone.
"Where?"
"That guy in the suit."
"You think it's your cousin?"
"I'm not really sure."
They studied the man. He seemed older than they were, but not by much. (It might just have been the suit.) He had Serena's pale hair and her sharply peaked lips, but while her eyes were the usual Garrett-family blue, his were a pale, almost ethereal gray, noticeable even from several yards' distance. He was staying where he was, looking up at the information board now, although the luggage cart had moved on.
"It might be my cousin Nicholas," Serena said.
"Maybe he just resembles Nicholas," James said. "Seems to me if it was really him, you could say for certain."
"Well, it's been a while since we've seen each other," Serena said. "He's my mom's brother David's son; they live up here in Philly."
"So just go ask him, why not."
"But if I'm wrong, I would look like a fool," Serena said.
James squinted at her dubiously.
"Oh, well, too late now anyhow," she said, because whoever it was had evidently found out what he needed to know. He turned to set off toward the other side of the station, hitching the strap of his overnight bag higher on his shoulder, and Serena went back to consulting the board. "What is the gate number usually?" she asked. "Maybe we could just take a chance and head on over there."
"It's not as if the train will leave the minute they announce it," James told her. "First we'll have to line up at the top of the stairs and wait awhile."
"Yes, but I worry we won't get to sit together."
He gave her the crinkly-eyed smile that she loved. "Isn't that just like you" was what it meant.
"Okay, so I'm overthinking this," she told him.
"An...
THIS HAPPENED back in March of 2010, when the Philadelphia train station still had the kind of information board that clickety-clacked as the various gate assignments rolled up. Serena Drew stood directly in front of it, gazing intently at the listing for the next train to Baltimore. Why did they wait so long to post their gates here? In Baltimore, they told people farther ahead.
Her boyfriend was standing beside her, but he was more relaxed. Having sent a single glance toward the board, he was studying his phone now. He shook his head at some message and then flicked on down to the next one.
The two of them had just had Sunday lunch at James's parents' house. It had been Serena's first meeting with them. For the past two weeks she had fretted about it, planning what to wear (jeans and a turtleneck, finally-the regulation grad-student outfit, so as not to seem to be trying too hard) and scouring her mind for possible topics of conversation. But things had gone fairly well, she thought. His parents had greeted her warmly and asked her right away to call them George and Dora, and his mother was such a chatterbox that conversation had not been an issue. "Next time," she'd told Serena after the meal, "you'll have to meet James's sisters too and their hubbies and their kiddies. We just didn't want to overwhelm you on your very first visit."
Next time. First visit. That had sounded encouraging.
Now, though, Serena couldn't even summon a sense of triumph. She was too limp with sheer relief; she felt like a wrung-out dishrag.
She and James had met at the start of the school year. James was so good-looking that she'd been surprised when he suggested going for coffee after class. He was tall and lean, with a mop of brown hair and a closely trimmed beard. (Serena, on the other hand, came very close to plump, and her ponytail was almost the same shade of beige as her skin.) In seminars he had a way of lounging back in his seat, not taking notes or appearing to listen, but then he would pop up with something unexpectedly astute. She had worried he would find her dull by comparison. One-on-one, though, he turned out to be easy company. They went to a lot of movies together and to inexpensive restaurants; and her parents, who lived in town, had already had the two of them to dinner several times and said they liked him very much.
Philadelphia's train station was more imposing than Baltimore's. It was vast, with an impossibly high, coffered ceiling and chandeliers like upside-down skyscrapers. Even the passengers seemed a cut above Baltimore passengers. One woman, Serena saw, was followed by her own redcap wheeling a cartload of matching luggage. As Serena was admiring the luggage (dark-brown, gleaming leather, with brass fittings), she happened to notice a young man in a suit who had paused to let the cart roll past him. "Oh," she said.
James looked up from his phone. "Hmm?"
"I think that might be my cousin," she said in an undertone.
"Where?"
"That guy in the suit."
"You think it's your cousin?"
"I'm not really sure."
They studied the man. He seemed older than they were, but not by much. (It might just have been the suit.) He had Serena's pale hair and her sharply peaked lips, but while her eyes were the usual Garrett-family blue, his were a pale, almost ethereal gray, noticeable even from several yards' distance. He was staying where he was, looking up at the information board now, although the luggage cart had moved on.
"It might be my cousin Nicholas," Serena said.
"Maybe he just resembles Nicholas," James said. "Seems to me if it was really him, you could say for certain."
"Well, it's been a while since we've seen each other," Serena said. "He's my mom's brother David's son; they live up here in Philly."
"So just go ask him, why not."
"But if I'm wrong, I would look like a fool," Serena said.
James squinted at her dubiously.
"Oh, well, too late now anyhow," she said, because whoever it was had evidently found out what he needed to know. He turned to set off toward the other side of the station, hitching the strap of his overnight bag higher on his shoulder, and Serena went back to consulting the board. "What is the gate number usually?" she asked. "Maybe we could just take a chance and head on over there."
"It's not as if the train will leave the minute they announce it," James told her. "First we'll have to line up at the top of the stairs and wait awhile."
"Yes, but I worry we won't get to sit together."
He gave her the crinkly-eyed smile that she loved. "Isn't that just like you" was what it meant.
"Okay, so I'm overthinking this," she told him.
"An...
