You know how when you pull on one of those fat, sausage-shaped skeins and out comes a giant, gnarly knot--a barf glob, in Wendy parlance--the kind of tangle requiring hours of patience to undo, patience that should be reserved for one's pets, children and spouse?
That's what the novel is like. A giant barf glob. A Gordion mess of scenes, characters and decades. For example, in one section, the main character abhors cooking, in another she's whipping up nicoise salads and pasta glistening with exquisite boutique olive oil. Another woman is a raw foodist for a time. Turn the page and she's putting up a little Shake 'N Bake for the fam.
Happily, no one knits.