Women's Fiction
![Sophie Kinsella - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_a_sophie_kinsella.jpg)
The Party Crasher: A Novel
NATIONAL BESTSELLER • From the #1 New York Times bestselling author of Love Your Life comes a humorous and heartwarming novel about family and finding a second chance at love, set against the backdrop of the most fabulous party you've ever snuck into.
"Sophie Kinsella keeps her finger on the cultural pulse, while leaving me giddy with laughter."-Jojo Moyes, author of The Giver of Stars and The Last Letter from Your Lover
It's been almost two years since Effie's beloved parents got divorced, destroying the image of the happy, loving childhood she thought she had. Since then, she's become estranged from her father and embarked on a feud with his hot (and much younger) girlfriend, Krista. And now, more earth-shattering news: They've sold Greenoaks, the rambling Victorian country house Effie has always called home.
When Krista decides to throw a grand "house-cooling" party, Effie is originally left off the guest list-and then receives a last-minute "anti-invitation" (maybe it's because she called Krista a gold-digger, but Krista totally deserved it, and it was mostly a joke anyway). Effie declines, but then remembers a beloved childhood treasure is still hidden in the house. Her only chance to retrieve it is to break into Greenoaks while everyone is busy celebrating. As Effie sneaks around the house, hiding under tables and peeping through trapdoors, she realizes the secrets Greenoaks holds aren't just in the dusty passageways and hidden attics she grew up exploring. Watching how her sister, brother, and dad behave when they think no one is looking, Effie overhears conversations, makes discoveries, and begins to see her family in a new light. Then she runs into Joe-the love of her life, who long ago broke her heart, and who's still as handsome and funny as ever-and even more truths emerge.
But will Effie act on these revelations? Will she stay hidden or step out into the party and take her place with her family? And truthfully, what did she really come back to Greenoaks for? Over the course of one blowout party, Effie realizes that she must be honest with herself and confront her past before she'll ever be able to face her future.
"Sophie Kinsella keeps her finger on the cultural pulse, while leaving me giddy with laughter."-Jojo Moyes, author of The Giver of Stars and The Last Letter from Your Lover
It's been almost two years since Effie's beloved parents got divorced, destroying the image of the happy, loving childhood she thought she had. Since then, she's become estranged from her father and embarked on a feud with his hot (and much younger) girlfriend, Krista. And now, more earth-shattering news: They've sold Greenoaks, the rambling Victorian country house Effie has always called home.
When Krista decides to throw a grand "house-cooling" party, Effie is originally left off the guest list-and then receives a last-minute "anti-invitation" (maybe it's because she called Krista a gold-digger, but Krista totally deserved it, and it was mostly a joke anyway). Effie declines, but then remembers a beloved childhood treasure is still hidden in the house. Her only chance to retrieve it is to break into Greenoaks while everyone is busy celebrating. As Effie sneaks around the house, hiding under tables and peeping through trapdoors, she realizes the secrets Greenoaks holds aren't just in the dusty passageways and hidden attics she grew up exploring. Watching how her sister, brother, and dad behave when they think no one is looking, Effie overhears conversations, makes discoveries, and begins to see her family in a new light. Then she runs into Joe-the love of her life, who long ago broke her heart, and who's still as handsome and funny as ever-and even more truths emerge.
But will Effie act on these revelations? Will she stay hidden or step out into the party and take her place with her family? And truthfully, what did she really come back to Greenoaks for? Over the course of one blowout party, Effie realizes that she must be honest with herself and confront her past before she'll ever be able to face her future.
Editorial Reviews
Praise for The Party Crasher
"There really is no one who can write like Sophie Kinsella, and this book is yet another triumph, packed with brilliant characters and madcap situations. It's joyous and funny but also contains emotional hidden depths. I absolutely loved it!"-Jill Mansell
"Funny, smart, and supremely entertaining, The Party Crasher features a marriage breakdown, adult siblings in turmoil, and some very uncomfortable truths, raising the question: Can a family this broken ever be fixed?"―Lucy Diamond
"The Party Crasher has all the wit, humor, warmth, and wonderful characters that I love about Kinsella's books, from the toe-curling embarrassments, where I can feel my cheeks burn for the character, to the deeply touching and ultimately joyous journey she takes us on. I couldn't put it down. It was a party I definitely wanted to be at and wasn't going to leave until the very end."―Jo Thomas
"Humorous and light-hearted, this successfully commits to the notion that, given time, love will prevail."-Publishers Weekly
Praise for Love Your Life
"As close to perfect as romantic comedies get."-Jenny Colgan, New York Times bestselling author of The Bookshop on the Corner
"A joyful, hilarious, and heartwarming tale of the challenges we face when we sign up to be part of someone else's life. It made me laugh out loud and cry happy tears. I adored it."-Beth O'Leary, author of The Flatshare and The Switch
"Love Your Life is as warm as the Italian sunshine and full of fun: a fabulous Italian appetizer, like a platter of antipasti; a stunning, satisfying mix of romance and real life, with characters whom you will fall in love with and who will leave you smiling with joy. Like a glorious dinner party with friends, it kept me happy, warm, and staying up far later than I should so as not to miss a thing. I loved it! It left me wanting more."
"There really is no one who can write like Sophie Kinsella, and this book is yet another triumph, packed with brilliant characters and madcap situations. It's joyous and funny but also contains emotional hidden depths. I absolutely loved it!"-Jill Mansell
"Funny, smart, and supremely entertaining, The Party Crasher features a marriage breakdown, adult siblings in turmoil, and some very uncomfortable truths, raising the question: Can a family this broken ever be fixed?"―Lucy Diamond
"The Party Crasher has all the wit, humor, warmth, and wonderful characters that I love about Kinsella's books, from the toe-curling embarrassments, where I can feel my cheeks burn for the character, to the deeply touching and ultimately joyous journey she takes us on. I couldn't put it down. It was a party I definitely wanted to be at and wasn't going to leave until the very end."―Jo Thomas
"Humorous and light-hearted, this successfully commits to the notion that, given time, love will prevail."-Publishers Weekly
Praise for Love Your Life
"As close to perfect as romantic comedies get."-Jenny Colgan, New York Times bestselling author of The Bookshop on the Corner
"A joyful, hilarious, and heartwarming tale of the challenges we face when we sign up to be part of someone else's life. It made me laugh out loud and cry happy tears. I adored it."-Beth O'Leary, author of The Flatshare and The Switch
"Love Your Life is as warm as the Italian sunshine and full of fun: a fabulous Italian appetizer, like a platter of antipasti; a stunning, satisfying mix of romance and real life, with characters whom you will fall in love with and who will leave you smiling with joy. Like a glorious dinner party with friends, it kept me happy, warm, and staying up far later than I should so as not to miss a thing. I loved it! It left me wanting more."
Readers Top Reviews
CoriScubagrrlHead
Her books are always so delightful. I can forget the world and my problems and just get lost in her books. Such a happy fairy tale kind of book.
Careful ShopperCo
My review title says it all! I loved this book! (Ten more words required for this review: Read this now!)
Courtney Rabideau
I love Sophie Kinsella books. They are almost always a great read. This one was no different. The story goes that Effie is the baby of a family and her dad and step mom who raised her break up. He meets a new woman and sells the house Effie and her older two sibs were raised in. Before they move Effies dad and his girlfriend have one last shindig to say goodbye. There is only one problem. The girlfriend and Effie hate each other and Effie wants to get some of her stuff out of the house. She uses her sister and an old boyfriend to help out but while hiding learns some things she wasn't ment to know about that changes her view on the family. All in all a great book. The one thing about it that I've mentioned in other books by Sophie Kinsella is that Effie is exactly like every other main character written by her. I can't differentiate her from Rebecca Bloomwood Brandon from the Shopaholic books or any other main character they all seem to be carbon copies of each other.
DKaneCourtney Rab
Escape all the chaos in your life with Effie and her family. They’re not perfect but reading about their trials and tribulations and love is a great way to escape the stress of your day.
KarenkakiDKaneCou
This book would have ended in two or three chapters if 1. Everybody in it weren't British, and 2. Therefore everyone was hesitant to complain, explain, or show evidence that would shut down all doubts. The whole notion of the stiff upper lip is taken to unbelievable extremes here. The youngest daughter in a family sneaks into the party celebrating the sale of her beloved childhoodhome, a party her father's younger Spanks-wearing girlfriend did not invite her to, to search for the one thing she failed to retrieve the last time she saw her former home. She ends up recruiting her ex and her sister when sneaking proves more difficult than she expected. Discomfort ensues... We learn that Effie never told her siblings about any of her strange interactions with Krista, or that her father never replies to her calls or voicemails. If she had, her siblings might have listened. They never got through to their father either. But grown British children never complain to each other; what if they're the only one being ignored? So no one says anything to the father for hundreds of pages. This is just plain stupid.
Short Excerpt Teaser
One
I know I can do this, I know I can. Whatever anyone else says. It's just a matter of perseverance.
"Effie, I already told you, that angel won't stay," says my big sister, Bean, coming up to watch me with a glass of mulled wine in her hand. "Not in a million years."
"It will." Firmly, I continue wrapping twine round our beloved silver angel ornament, ignoring the pine needles pricking my hand.
"It won't. Just give up! It's too heavy!"
"I'm not giving up!" I retort. "We always have the silver angel on the top of the Christmas tree."
"But this tree is about half the size of the ones we normally have," points out Bean. "Haven't you noticed? It's really spindly."
I briefly survey the tree, standing in its usual alcove in the hall. Of course I've noticed it's small. We usually have a huge, impressive, bushy tree, whereas this one is pretty puny. But that's not my concern right now.
"This will work." I tie my final knot with a flourish, then let go-whereupon the whole branch collapses, the angel swings upside down, and her skirt falls over her head, exposing her knickers. Drat.
"Well, that looks super-festive," says Bean, snorting with laughter. "Shall we write Happy Christmas on her underpants?"
"Fine." I untie the angel and step back. "I'll brace the branch with a stick or something."
"Just put something else on top of the tree!" Bean sounds half amused, half exasperated. "Effie, why are you always so stubborn?"
"I'm not stubborn, I'm persistent."
"You tell 'em, Effie!" chimes in Dad, passing by with a bundle of fairy lights in his arms. "Fight the good fight! Never say die!"
His eyes are twinkling and his cheeks are rosy, and I smile back fondly. Dad gets it. He's one of the most tenacious people I know. He was brought up in a tiny flat in Layton-on-Sea by a single mother, and he went to a really rough school. But he persevered, got to college, and then joined an investment firm. Now he is where he is: retired, comfortable, happy, all good. You don't achieve that by giving up at the first hurdle.
OK, so his tenacity can sometimes segue into irrational obstinacy. Like that time he wouldn't give up on a charity 10K run, even though he was limping, and it turned out he'd torn a calf muscle. But as he said afterward, he'd raised the money, he'd got the job done, and he'd survive. Dad was always exclaiming, "You'll survive!" during our childhoods, which was sometimes cheering and sometimes bracing and sometimes totally unwelcome. (Sometimes you don't want to hear that you'll survive. You want to peer at your bleeding knee and wail and have someone say kindly, There, there, aren't you brave?)
Dad had obviously been at the mulled wine before I even arrived today-but, then, why not? It's Christmastime and it's his birthday and it's decorating day. It's always been our tradition to decorate the tree on Dad's birthday. Even now we're all grown up, we come back to Greenoaks, our family home in Sussex, every year.
As Dad disappears into the kitchen, I edge closer to Bean and lower my voice. "Why did Mimi get such a small tree this year?"
"Don't know," says Bean after a pause. "Just being practical, maybe? I mean, we're all adults now."
"Maybe," I say, dissatisfied by this answer. Our stepmother, Mimi, is artistic and creative and full of quirky whims. She's always loved Christmas decorating, the bigger the better. Why would she suddenly decide to be practical? Next year I'll go tree shopping with her, I decide. I'll remind her subtly that we always have a massive tree at Greenoaks, and there's no reason to stop that tradition, even if Bean is thirty-three and Gus is thirty-one and I'm twenty-six.
"At last!" Bean interrupts my thoughts, peering at her phone.
"What?"
"Gus. He's just sent over the video. Talk about cutting it fine."
About a month ago, Dad said he "didn't want presents this year." As if we were going to take any notice of that. But to be fair, he does have a lot of sweaters and cuff-links and things, so we decided to be creative. Bean and Gus have put together a video montage, which Gus has been finalizing, and I've done my own surprise project, which I can't wait to show Dad.
"I expect Gus has been pretty busy with Romilly," I say, winking at Bean, who grins back.
Our brother, Gus, has recently landed this amazing girlfriend called Romilly. And we're not surprised, we're definitely not surprised, but . . . well. The thing is, he's Gus. Absentminded. Vague. He's handsome in his own way, very endearing, and very good at his job in software. But he's not exactly what you'd call "alpha." Whereas she's some kind of amazing powerhouse with perfect ...
I know I can do this, I know I can. Whatever anyone else says. It's just a matter of perseverance.
"Effie, I already told you, that angel won't stay," says my big sister, Bean, coming up to watch me with a glass of mulled wine in her hand. "Not in a million years."
"It will." Firmly, I continue wrapping twine round our beloved silver angel ornament, ignoring the pine needles pricking my hand.
"It won't. Just give up! It's too heavy!"
"I'm not giving up!" I retort. "We always have the silver angel on the top of the Christmas tree."
"But this tree is about half the size of the ones we normally have," points out Bean. "Haven't you noticed? It's really spindly."
I briefly survey the tree, standing in its usual alcove in the hall. Of course I've noticed it's small. We usually have a huge, impressive, bushy tree, whereas this one is pretty puny. But that's not my concern right now.
"This will work." I tie my final knot with a flourish, then let go-whereupon the whole branch collapses, the angel swings upside down, and her skirt falls over her head, exposing her knickers. Drat.
"Well, that looks super-festive," says Bean, snorting with laughter. "Shall we write Happy Christmas on her underpants?"
"Fine." I untie the angel and step back. "I'll brace the branch with a stick or something."
"Just put something else on top of the tree!" Bean sounds half amused, half exasperated. "Effie, why are you always so stubborn?"
"I'm not stubborn, I'm persistent."
"You tell 'em, Effie!" chimes in Dad, passing by with a bundle of fairy lights in his arms. "Fight the good fight! Never say die!"
His eyes are twinkling and his cheeks are rosy, and I smile back fondly. Dad gets it. He's one of the most tenacious people I know. He was brought up in a tiny flat in Layton-on-Sea by a single mother, and he went to a really rough school. But he persevered, got to college, and then joined an investment firm. Now he is where he is: retired, comfortable, happy, all good. You don't achieve that by giving up at the first hurdle.
OK, so his tenacity can sometimes segue into irrational obstinacy. Like that time he wouldn't give up on a charity 10K run, even though he was limping, and it turned out he'd torn a calf muscle. But as he said afterward, he'd raised the money, he'd got the job done, and he'd survive. Dad was always exclaiming, "You'll survive!" during our childhoods, which was sometimes cheering and sometimes bracing and sometimes totally unwelcome. (Sometimes you don't want to hear that you'll survive. You want to peer at your bleeding knee and wail and have someone say kindly, There, there, aren't you brave?)
Dad had obviously been at the mulled wine before I even arrived today-but, then, why not? It's Christmastime and it's his birthday and it's decorating day. It's always been our tradition to decorate the tree on Dad's birthday. Even now we're all grown up, we come back to Greenoaks, our family home in Sussex, every year.
As Dad disappears into the kitchen, I edge closer to Bean and lower my voice. "Why did Mimi get such a small tree this year?"
"Don't know," says Bean after a pause. "Just being practical, maybe? I mean, we're all adults now."
"Maybe," I say, dissatisfied by this answer. Our stepmother, Mimi, is artistic and creative and full of quirky whims. She's always loved Christmas decorating, the bigger the better. Why would she suddenly decide to be practical? Next year I'll go tree shopping with her, I decide. I'll remind her subtly that we always have a massive tree at Greenoaks, and there's no reason to stop that tradition, even if Bean is thirty-three and Gus is thirty-one and I'm twenty-six.
"At last!" Bean interrupts my thoughts, peering at her phone.
"What?"
"Gus. He's just sent over the video. Talk about cutting it fine."
About a month ago, Dad said he "didn't want presents this year." As if we were going to take any notice of that. But to be fair, he does have a lot of sweaters and cuff-links and things, so we decided to be creative. Bean and Gus have put together a video montage, which Gus has been finalizing, and I've done my own surprise project, which I can't wait to show Dad.
"I expect Gus has been pretty busy with Romilly," I say, winking at Bean, who grins back.
Our brother, Gus, has recently landed this amazing girlfriend called Romilly. And we're not surprised, we're definitely not surprised, but . . . well. The thing is, he's Gus. Absentminded. Vague. He's handsome in his own way, very endearing, and very good at his job in software. But he's not exactly what you'd call "alpha." Whereas she's some kind of amazing powerhouse with perfect ...
