Sunday, July 1, 2012

Sugarhouse, by Matthew Batt

expected a funny take on home renovation, similar in tone to The House on First Street , but despite the fun looking cover and title, the book really turned into a kind of depressing family story.
Even the parts about the home renovation tasks that the author and his wife took on were not terrifically funny or interesting, and the smug satisfaction kind of reeked.
Yes, it is very cool that they laid a slate floor- but seriously, every person who has laid tile of any kind has that same exact story, and manage to not sound like Smug McSmuggery about it.
There was hardly any mention of any amusing/frightening/interesting encounters with neighbors or ex-users of the crack house (which, honestly, it didn't seem to have been one) and the home repair parts were dull, the smugness clouded everything, and if I had wanted to read a book about a gold-digger named Tonya fleecing a guy's grandad out of his money, I would have chosen a book that didn't pretend to be a funny book about renovating a house.
Misleading and not funny. Depressing and smug.

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