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Truly Madly Guilty

Truly Madly Guilty

3.5 84
by Liane Moriarty

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The new book by #1 New York Times bestselling author Liane Moriarty, one of today's most beloved authors.

Immensely popular and utterly singular, Liane Moriarty’s novels consistently feature spot-on observations about contemporary life, irresistible humor, and page-turning suspense. Her last two books, Big Little Lies and The Husband


The new book by #1 New York Times bestselling author Liane Moriarty, one of today's most beloved authors.

Immensely popular and utterly singular, Liane Moriarty’s novels consistently feature spot-on observations about contemporary life, irresistible humor, and page-turning suspense. Her last two books, Big Little Lies and The Husband’s Secret, were both massive #1 New York Times bestsellers in hardcover, with over a million copies sold, andThe Husband’s Secret debuted at #1 on the paperback list last March. The paperback of Big Little Lies published last August, another immediate New York Times bestseller, priming Moriarty’s audience for Truly Madly Guilty this summer. Moriarty has made a splash in Hollywood, too: HBO has begun filming Big Little Lies with Reese Witherspoon and Nicole Kidman producing and starring, and The Husband’s Secret is in development with CBS Films. Truly Madly Guilty is perfectly poised to be her biggest hit yet.

Editorial Reviews

B&N Reads
In her latest page-turner, New York Times bestseller Moriarty (The Husband’s Secret, Little Big Lies, What Alice Forgot) explores how one small moment can destroy everything. Best friends Erika and Clementine gather with pals for a casual backyard barbecue, right before a tragedy changes their lives forever, and puts everything they thought they knew about themselves and each other into question. A fast-paced, nonlinear narrative that will have you puzzling together the before, the after, and the in between. Read More
Publishers Weekly
In bestseller Moriarty's (Big Little Lies) latest, one small decision—going to a barbecue—reverberates through the lives of the six adults. Childhood friends Erika and Clementine couldn't be more different. Obsessive-compulsive Erika is married to Oliver; both are accountants, and they have no children. Clementine is a disorganized classical cellist with a husband, Sam, and two small children, Holly and Ruby. These two families are unexpectedly invited to a barbecue at the opulent home of Erika's neighbors: wealthy and vivacious Vid; his "smoking hot" wife, Tiffany; and their 10-year-old daughter, Dakota. During what is supposed to be an ordinary afternoon of food, drink, and lively conversation among people just beginning to become friends, a harrowing event deeply affects all these characters, forcing them to closely examine their choices, not only of that day but of their entire lives, and the effects of those choices. The novel holds back the meat of the story until the reader is about to burst with curiosity, but this technique strangely doesn't feel like torture; it gives readers a chance to consider the endless possibilities of every moment. (July)
From the Publisher

“Here’s the best news you’ve heard all year: Not a single page disappoints…The only difficulty with Truly Madly Guilty? Putting it down.” —Miami Herald

"Perfect for those long summer days, but readers will have to pace themselves to not devour it in one sitting.” —Library Journal (starred review)

Entertainment Weekly’s “Best Beach Bet,” Summer ’16

A USA Today Hot Books for Summer Selection

A Miami Herald Summer Reads Pick

“Liane Moriarty is one of the few writers I’ll drop anything for. Her books are wise, honest, beautifully observed, and—unusually—I can never tell where they’re going to go.” —Jojo Moyes

"The author of Big Little Lies—which is being made into an HBO series starring Nicole Kidman and Reese Witherspoon—brings it again. This time, the lives of a few happy families are changed forever after a barbecue. Well done, in more ways than one." —Skimm Reads

“Emotionally riveting…Moriarty is a deft storyteller who creates believable, relatable characters. The well-drawn cast here will engage readers and remind them that life halfway around the world isn’t much different from life here—families argue, neighbors meddle and children push boundaries.” —Washington Post

“[A] masterpiece…Extremely relatable and thought-provoking…Ms. Moriarty’s shining talent in Truly Madly Guilty is her uncanny ability to get into the mind of her well-developed characters, turn the mirror on the reader and make you think about your own relationships, both past and present.” —Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

“Moriarty is a talented tale-spinner and a sharp, witty social observer…Moriarty fans, pack Truly Madly in your beach bag.” —USA Today

Truly Madly Guilty will be widely read…It has all the requisite trademarks of one of her hits…It probes some of the things she writes about best: fraught friendships, covert backbiting, stale marriages.” —New York Times

“Stacked with her signature themes: female friendship, duplicity, the darkness lurking beneath lucky, ordinary suburban lives…The last twist, though, is nearly worth the wait, and what sets Moriarty’s writing apart…has as much to do with her canny insights into human nature as her clever plotting…Compelling.” —Entertainment Weekly

“Moriarty’s fans will rejoice at her latest title as she tackles marriage, parenthood, friendship, and sex, in this provocative and gripping read...This novel sheds light on the truths that we all fear as parents, spouses, and friends. It’s perfect for those long summer days, but readers will have to pace themselves to not devour it in one sitting.” —Library Journal (starred review)

“Perhaps the most anticipated release this summer, Moriarty is at her finest in this keep you guessing multi-family drama surrounding a tragic event at a casual neighborhood barbecue. You will not soon forget this cast of troubled yet very likable characters, and the relationships that both bind and nearly destroy them.” —Huffington Post

"The author of Big Little Lies doing what she does best: unraveling people's public selves with an urgency that keeps you reading." —Glamour Magazine

“[A] brilliant story of love, marriage, parenthood and, of course, guilt…It’s wonderfully suspenseful, slyly sentimental, sometimes outright sad—and also truly, madly, amazingly funny.” —Forth Worth Star-Telegram

“Liane Moriarty has done it again. Truly Madly Guilty has it all—suspense, drama, humor, and a cracking story cleverly told.” —Fabulous Magazine (UK)

Library Journal
★ 07/01/2016
Three couples, one ordinary day, one barbecue. Clementine and Sam have a rock-solid marriage and are parents to two beautiful little girls. Clementine's best friend Erika and her husband, Oliver, enjoy their child-free lifestyle. Friends since their youth, Clementine and Erika have a complicated relationship. Tiffany and Vid enjoy entertaining in their mansion with the sprawling backyard, but they have their secrets. They all come together when Vid invites Erika and Oliver to their house for a cookout at the last minute, and she in turn, invites Clementine, Sam, and their girls. What starts out as an ordinary afternoon quickly takes a turn for the worse. Moriarty's fans will rejoice at her latest title (after Big Little Lies), as she tackles marriage, parenthood, friendship, and sex, in this provocative and gripping read. Alternating between present day and the day of the barbecue, the author builds suspense, keeping readers on the edge of their seats wondering what happened to cause such fallout among the couples. VERDICT This novel sheds light on the truths that we all fear as parents, spouses, and friends. It's perfect for those long summer days, but readers will have to pace themselves to not devour it in one sitting. [See Prepub Alert, 2/21/16.]—Erin Holt, Williamson Cty. P.L., Franklin, TN
Kirkus Reviews
Relying less on comedy or edginess than in previous novels (Big Little Lies, 2014, etc.), Moriarty explores the social and psychological repercussions of a barbecue in Sydney gone terribly awry. What happened emerges slowly through glimpses of characters coping—or not coping—weeks after the event intercut with an unfolding chronicle of the actual barbecue day. Both past and present are seen through the eyes of those remembering, who have been affected very differently by the events. Leading up to the barbecue, Erika and her husband, Oliver, accountants whose buttoned-up personalities compensate for miserable upbringings (in Erika's case by a hoarder and in Oliver's by alcoholics), have invited Erika's childhood friend Clementine, a cellist preparing for an important audition, her husband, Sam, and two small children, 2-year-old Ruby and 5-year-old Holly, for afternoon tea and are nervously planning to ask Clementine to donate eggs to help them have a baby. Oliver is understandably upset when Erika accepts a spur-of-the-moment invitation from their wealthy, very sociable neighbor, Vid, to bring everyone over to his backyard for a barbecue. But Clementine, who was instinctively dreading Erika's tea, jumps at the chance for a lively afternoon with Vid, his sexy wife, Tiffany, and their brainy 10-year-old daughter, Dakota. While Dakota watches the smaller girls, the adults proceed to get mildly sloshed. Then Erika, drunk for the first time in her life, screams, and a child ends up in a life-threatening situation. The suspicion and guilt the adults and even children secretly feel in the aftermath cause rifts and secrets to surface within the three marriages and within Erika and Clementine's friendship. The setup here is reminiscent of fellow Australian novelist Christos Tsiokas' The Slap (2008), but while Tsiokas uses a minor incident to propel his corrosive examination of middle-class lives, Moriarty's characters resolve their issues too neatly and with too much comforting ease. Not one of Moriarty's best outings.

Product Details

Flatiron Books
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Read an Excerpt

Truly Madly Guilty

By Liane Moriarty

Flatiron Books

Copyright © 2016 Liane Moriarty
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-250-06981-8


"This is a story that begins with a barbecue," said Clementine. The microphone amplified and smoothed her voice, making it more authoritative, as if it had been photoshopped. "An ordinary neighborhood barbecue in an ordinary backyard."

Well, not exactly an ordinary backyard, thought Erika. She crossed her legs, tucked one foot behind her ankle, and sniffed. Nobody would call Vid's backyard ordinary.

Erika sat in the middle of the back row of the audience in the event room that adjoined this smartly renovated local library in a suburb forty-five minutes out of the city, not thirty minutes, thank you very much, as suggested by the person at the cab company, who you would think would have some sort of expertise in the matter.

There were maybe twenty people in the audience, although there were foldout chairs available for twice that many. Most of the audience were elderly people, with lively, expectant faces. These were intelligent, informed senior citizens who had come along on this rainy (yet again, would it ever end?) morning to collect new and fascinating information at their local Community Matters Meeting. "I saw the most interesting woman speak today," they wanted to tell their children and grandchildren.

Before she came, Erika had looked up the library's website to see how it described Clementine's talk. The blurb was short, and not very informative:

Hear Sydney mother and well-known cellist Clementine Hart share her story: "One Ordinary Day."

Was Clementine really a "well-known" cellist? That seemed a stretch.

The five-dollar fee for today's event included two guest speakers, a delicious homemade morning tea and the chance to win a lucky door prize. The speaker after Clementine was going to talk about Council's controversial redevelopment plan for the local pool. Erika could hear the distant gentle clatter of cups and saucers being set up for the morning tea now. She held her flimsy raffle ticket for the lucky door prize safe on her lap. She couldn't be bothered putting it in her bag and then having to find it when they drew the raffle. Blue, E 24. It didn't have the look of a winning ticket.

The lady who sat directly in front of Erika had her gray, curly-haired head tipped to one side in a sympathetic, engaged manner, as if she were ready to agree with everything Clementine had to say. The tag on her shirt was sticking up. Size twelve. Target. Erika reached over and slid it back down.

The lady turned her head.

"Tag," whispered Erika.

The lady smiled her thanks and Erika watched the back of her neck turn pale pink. The younger man sitting next to her, her son perhaps, who looked to be in his forties, had a bar code tattooed on the back of his tanned neck, as if he were a supermarket product. Was it meant to be funny? Ironic? Symbolic? Erika wanted to tell him that it was, in point of fact, idiotic.

"It was just an ordinary Sunday afternoon," said Clementine.

Noticeable repetition of the word "ordinary." Clementine must have decided that it was important she appear "relatable" to these ordinary people in the ordinary outer suburbs. Erika imagined Clementine sitting at her small dining room table, or maybe at Sam's unrestored antique desk, in her shabby-chic sandstone terrace house with its "water glimpse," writing her little community-minded speech while she chewed on the end of her pen and pulled all that lavish, dark hair of hers over one shoulder to caress in that sensual, slightly self-satisfied way she had, as if she were Rapunzel, thinking to herself: Ordinary.

Indeed, Clementine, how shall you make the ordinary people understand?

"It was early winter. A cold, gloomy day," said Clementine.

What the ...? Erika shifted in her chair. It had been a beautiful day. A "magnificent" day. That was the word Vid had used.

Or possibly "glorious." A word like that, anyway.

"There was a real bite in the air," said Clementine, and she actually shivered theatrically, and surely unnecessarily, when it was warm in the room, so much so that a man sitting a few rows in front of Erika appeared to have nodded off. He had his legs stretched out in front of him and his hands clasped comfortably across his stomach, his head tipped back as if he were napping on an invisible pillow. Perhaps he'd died.

Maybe the day of the barbecue had been cool, but it was definitely not gloomy. Erika knew that eyewitness accounts were notoriously unreliable because people thought they just pressed Rewind on the little recorder installed in their heads, when in fact they constructed their memories. They "developed their own narratives." And so, when Clementine remembered the barbecue, she remembered a cold, gloomy day. But Clementine was wrong. Erika remembered (she remembered; she was absolutely not constructing) how on the morning of the barbecue, Vid had bent down to lean into her car window. "Isn't it a magnificent day!" he said.

Erika knew for an absolute fact that was what he'd said.

Or it may have been "glorious."

But it was a word with positive connotations. She could be sure of that.

(If only Erika had said, "Yes, Vid, it certainly is a magnificent/glorious day," and put her foot back on the accelerator.)

"I remember I'd dressed my little girls extra warmly," said Clementine.

Sam probably dressed the girls, thought Erika.

Clementine cleared her throat and gripped the sides of the lectern with both hands. The microphone was angled too high for her, so it seemed as though she were on tippy-toes trying to get her mouth close enough. Her neck was elongated, emphasizing the new skinniness of her face.

Erika considered the possibility of discreetly edging her way around the side of the room and zipping over to adjust the microphone. It would only take a second. She imagined Clementine shooting her a grateful smile. "Thank God you did that," she would say afterwards, while they had coffee. "You really saved the day."

Except that Clementine didn't really want Erika there today. Erika hadn't missed the horrified expression that flashed across her face when Erika had suggested she'd like to come along to hear her speak, although Clementine had quickly recovered herself and said it was fine, lovely, how nice, they could have coffee in the local food court afterwards.

"It was a last-minute invitation," said Clementine. "The barbecue. We didn't know our hosts that well. They were, well, they were friends of friends." She looked down at the lectern as if she'd lost her place. She'd carried a little pile of handwritten palm-sized index cards with her when she walked up to the lectern. There was something heartbreaking about those cards, as if Clementine had remembered that little tip from their oratory lessons at school. She must have cut them up with scissors. Not her grandmother's pearl-handled ones. They'd gone missing.

It was odd seeing Clementine "onstage," so to speak, without her cello. She looked so conventional, in her blue jeans and "nice" floral top. Suburban mum outfit. Clementine's legs were too short for jeans, and they looked even shorter with flat ballet shoes like she was wearing today. Well, it was just a fact. She had looked almost — even though it seemed so disloyal to use the word in relation to Clementine — frumpy, when she'd walked up to the lectern. When she performed, she put her hair up and wore heels and all black: long skirts made out of floaty material, wide enough so she could fit the cello between her knees. Seeing Clementine sit with her head bowed tenderly, passionately toward her cello, as if she were embracing it, one long tendril of hair falling just short of the strings, her arm bent at that strange, geometric angle, was always so sensual, so exotic, so other to Erika. Each time she saw Clementine perform, even after all these years, Erika inevitably experienced a sensation like loss, as though she yearned for something unattainable. She'd always assumed that sensation represented something more complicated and interesting than envy, because she had no interest in playing a musical instrument, but maybe it didn't. Maybe it all came back to envy.

Watching Clementine give this halting, surely pointless little speech in this little room, with a view of the busy shopping center parking lot instead of the hushed, soaring-ceilinged concert halls where she normally performed, gave Erika the same shameful satisfaction she felt seeing a movie star in a trashy magazine without makeup: You're not that special after all.

"So there were six adults there that day," said Clementine. She cleared her throat, rocked back onto her heels and then rocked forward again. "Six adults and three children."

And one yappy dog, thought Erika. Yap, yap, yap.

"As I said, we didn't really know our hosts, but we were all having a nice time, we were enjoying ourselves."

You were enjoying yourself, thought Erika. You were.

She remembered how Clementine's clear, bell-like laughter rose and fell in tandem with Vid's deep chuckle. She saw people's faces slip in and out of murky shadows, their eyes like black pools, sudden flashes of teeth.

They'd taken far too long that afternoon to turn on the outdoor lights in that preposterous backyard.

"I remember at one point we were listening to music," said Clementine. She looked down at the lectern in front of her, and then up again, as if she were seeing something on the horizon far in the distance. Her eyes were blank. She didn't look like a suburban mum now. "'After a Dream' by the French composer Gabriel Fauré." Naturally she pronounced it the proper French way. "It's a beautiful piece of music. It has this exquisite mournfulness to it."

She stopped. Did she sense the slight shifting in seats, the discomfort in her audience? "Exquisite mournfulness" was not the right phrase for this audience: too excessive, too arty. Clementine, my love, we're too ordinary for your highbrow references to French composers. Anyway, they also played "November Rain" by Guns N' Roses that night. Not quite so arty.

Wasn't the playing of "November Rain" somehow related to Tiffany's revelation? Or was that before? When exactly did Tiffany share her secret? Was that when the afternoon had turned to liquid and begun to slip and slide away?

"We had been drinking," said Clementine. "But no one was drunk. Maybe a little tipsy."

Her eyes met Erika's, as though she'd been aware of exactly where she was sitting the whole time and had been avoiding looking at her, but had now made a deliberate decision to seek her out. Erika stared back and tried to smile, like a friend, Clementine's closest friend, the godmother of her children, but her face felt paralyzed, as if she'd had a stroke.

"Anyway, it was very late in the afternoon and we were all about to have dessert, we were all laughing," said Clementine. She dropped Erika's gaze to look at someone else in the audience in the front row, and it felt dismissive, even cruel. "Over something. I don't remember what."

Erika felt light-headed, claustrophobic. The room had become unbearably stuffy.

The need to get out was suddenly overpowering. Here we go, she thought. Here we go again. Fight-or-flight response. Activation of her sympathetic nervous system. A shift in her brain chemicals. That's what it was. Perfectly natural. Childhood trauma. She'd read all the literature. She knew exactly what was happening to her but the knowledge made no difference. Her body went right ahead and betrayed her. Her heart raced. Her hands trembled. She could smell her childhood, so thick and real in her nostrils: damp and mold and shame.

"Don't fight the panic. Face it. Float through it," her psychologist had told her.

Her psychologist was exceptional, worth every cent, but for God's sake, as if you could float when there was no room, no space anywhere, above, below, when you couldn't take a step without feeling the spongy give of rotting stuff beneath your feet.

She stood, pulling at her skirt, which had gotten stuck to the backs of her legs. The guy with the bar code glanced over his shoulder at her. The sympathetic concern in his eyes gave her a tiny shock; it was like seeing the disconcertingly intelligent eyes of an ape.

"Sorry," whispered Erika. "I have to —" She pointed at her watch and shuffled sideways past him, trying not to brush the back of his head with her jacket.

As she reached the back of the room, Clementine said, "I remember there was a moment when my friend screamed my name. Really loud. I'll never forget the sound."

Erika stopped with her hand on the door, her back to the front of the room. Clementine must have leaned toward the microphone because her voice suddenly filled the room: "She shouted, Clementine!"

Clementine had always been an excellent mimic; as a musician she had an ear for the precise intonations in people's voices. Erika could hear raw terror and shrill urgency in just that one word, "Clementine!"

Erika knew she was the friend who had shouted Clementine's name that night but she had no memory of it. There was nothing but a pure white space where that memory should have been, and if she couldn't remember a moment like that, well, that indicated a problem, an anomaly, a discrepancy, an extremely significant and concerning discrepancy. The wave of panic peaked and nearly swept her off her feet. She pushed down the handle of the door and staggered out into the relentless rain.


"Been at a meeting then?" said the cabdriver taking Erika back into the city. He grinned paternally at her in the rearview mirror as if it was kind of cute the way women worked these days, all dressed up in suits, almost like they were proper businesspeople.

"Yes," said Erika. She gave her umbrella a vigorous shake on the floor of the cab. "Keep your eyes on the road."

"Yes, ma'am!" The cabdriver tapped two fingertips to his forehead in a mock salute.

"The rain," said Erika defensively. She indicated the raindrops pelleting furiously against the windshield. "Slippery roads."

"Just drove this goose to the airport," said the cabdriver. He stopped talking as he changed lanes, one meaty hand on the wheel, the other arm slung casually along the back of the seat, leaving Erika with the image of an actual large white goose sitting in the backseat of the taxi.

"He reckons all this rain is related to climate change. I said, mate, mate, I said, it's nothing to do with climate change. It's La Niña! You know about La Niña? El Niño and La Niña? Natural events! Been happening for thousands of years."

"Right," said Erika. She wished Oliver were with her. He'd take on this conversation for her. Why were cabdrivers so insistent on educating their passengers?

"Yep. La Niña," said the cabbie, with a sort of Mexican inflection. He obviously enjoyed saying "La Niña." "So, we broke the record, hey? Longest consecutive run of rainy days in Sydney since 1932. Hooray for us!"

"Yes," said Erika. "Hooray for us."

It was 1931, she never forgot a number, but there was no need to correct him.

"I think you'll find it was 1931," she said. She couldn't help herself. It was a character flaw. She knew it.

"Yep, that's it, 1931," said the cabbie, as if that's what he'd said in the first place. "Before that it was twenty-four days in 1893. Twenty-four rainy days in a row! Let's hope we don't break that record too, hey? Think we will?"

"Let's hope not," said Erika. She ran a finger along her forehead. Was that sweat or rain?

She'd calmed down as she waited in the rain outside the library for the cab. Her breathing was steady again, but her stomach still rocked and roiled, and she felt exhausted, depleted, as if she'd run a marathon.

She took out her phone and texted Clementine: Sorry, had to rush off, problem at work, you were fantastic, talk later.

She changed "fantastic" to "great." Fantastic was over the top. Also inaccurate. She pressed Send.

It had been an error of judgment to take precious time out of her working day to come and listen to Clementine's talk. She'd only gone to be supportive, and because she wanted to get her own feelings about what had happened filed away in an orderly fashion. It was as though her memory of that afternoon was a strip of old-fashioned film, and someone had taken a pair of scissors and removed certain frames. They weren't even whole frames. They were slivers. Thin slivers of time. She just wanted to fill in those slivers, without admitting to anyone, "I don't quite remember it all."

An image came to her of her own face reflected in her bathroom mirror, her hands shaking violently as she tried to break that little yellow pill in half with her thumbnail. She suspected the gaps in her memory were related to the tablet she'd taken that afternoon. But it was a prescription pill. It wasn't like she'd popped an Ecstasy tablet before going to a barbecue.


Excerpted from Truly Madly Guilty by Liane Moriarty. Copyright © 2016 Liane Moriarty. Excerpted by permission of Flatiron Books.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Meet the Author

LIANE MORIARTY is the author of the #1 New York Times bestsellers Big Little Lies and The Husband's Secret, as well as the New York Times bestseller What Alice Forgot and The Hypnotist's Love Story. She lives in Sydney, Australia, with her husband and two children.

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Truly Madly Guilty 3.5 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 84 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Gave it 3 stars for beginning and the end. Middle dragged and i just about gave up. Glad i finished, but could not wait to finish.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Too convoluted. Too long.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I have read all of Liane Mortiarty's books and this one is my favorite. Very likable characters and touching story!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This was a bit slower than her other books but I still couldn't wait to get into bed every night and read, don't give up reading it all comes together wonderfully. You can see all sides and how it would feel to each couple after the accident.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Perfect layers of enthralling storytelling !
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I was so excited to see that another book had come out by one of my favorite authors. The story, as in previous books reminds me of being on a roller-coaster with its twists and turns . It leaves you laughing , crying , and sighing with pleasure . I just wish there was a next book to read! Her characters are rich and have many layers to them. A must read and I won't spoil it by revealing the story .
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
First I adore this author but this book had me in a dread to pick it up each day to read. Characters were so uninteresting. Plot was tedious. It took 170 pages to become a little interesting. It very well could have been shortened by 150 pages. I celebrated when i finally finished it last night. I cannot imagine sitting through the tv series that is going to be made so forget that. This will not deter me from reading anymore of her books as I usually love them. This one actually wasted my time, sad to have to say. Boring.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I have really enjoyed this authors other books but Truly Madly Guilty just didn't have the same energy. I almost couldn't make it to the end. The story just seemed to ramble on and by the end I was just glad it was over. There really wasn't much of a mystery to the plot like in her other books.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
It took over 200 pages to find out what this book was about- boring, not her best
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
It was a great read. Ending was a little abrupt but i enjoyed everyminute of reading it.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
What a wonderful writer Liane Moriarty is, all of her books are outstanding , please don't stop writing ! Thanks for all of the enjoyment
CCinME More than 1 year ago
Not my favorite by Liane Moriarty. I am a huge fan of hers and perhaps I was expecting more. It slogged along seemingly taking far too long to get to the point.
KateUnger More than 1 year ago
My advice is to avoid reading much about this book before reading it. Suspense is the highlight of Liane Moriarty’s latest book. From the very first page, you know that something happened at a backyard barbeque 2 months ago. Something awful because it’s deeply affected the lives of the 6 adults and a 10-year old girl who were present. But what was it?! That’s what made this book one that I could not put down. Liane has interwoven the present day events – told from the perspective of all seven individuals – and snippets of the fateful day itself. I loved how the events of that day were revealed bit by bit. Clementine and Sam are possibly headed towards divorce. She’s juggling caring for her two young daughters and preparing for a cello audition for a full-time symphony seat. He is struggling to focus at his new job. And Clementine’s mother is hovering and trying to helpfully put their marriage back together. Meanwhile, Erika, Clementine’s lifelong friend, and her husband, Oliver, are dealing with her mother, Sylvia, who Erika only sees on scheduled days. (And – why?!?) Vid, Tiffany, and their daughter, Dakota, are preparing for the new school year, her first at a very prestigious prep school. This is a very character-driven novel, which doesn’t always work for me, but it’s also a relationship-driven story. The characters and their relationships (and not just those of the married couples) are very complex. Moriarty does characterization and plot development so well, and she’s hit the mark again with this book. It’s not my favorite of her novels, but it quite compelling and very much worth reading. http://www.momsradius.com/2016/08/book-review-truly-madly-guilty.html
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Clementine and Sam are married with two little girls. Clementine is a talented cellist practicing for an upcoming audition. Sam is finding his way in a new job. Their young daughters, Holly, and Ruby, are normal and happy children. Erika and Oliver have been married for a number of years and do not have children. They both have good jobs. Clementine and Erika have been friends since school. However, it’s a rather tenuous type friendship. So, when Erika invites Clementine and her family over for afternoon tea, Clementine reluctantly accepts the invitation. Vid, Tiffany, and their daughter, Dakota, are Erika’s next door neighbors. An outgoing man, Vid loves to surround himself with people having a good time. Seeing Erika outside, he invites them to an impromptu barbecue. When Erika starts to decline the invitation because they are having Clementine and family over, Vid insists that they bring them as well. On the other side of Vid and Tiffany lives Harry, a crotchety old man always complaining. No one really knows him well because he lives alone and keeps to himself. As the barbecue begins, everyone slowly starts to relax and enjoy themselves with the good food, champagne, music, and laughs. But when something terrible happens, everyone’s world is thrown upside down. As with all of this author’s novels, the reader peels open story one layer at a time. One doesn’t know what has happened until you get further into the book. There are lots of flashbacks that reveal facts a bit at a time. So, reviewing this book is a bit difficult because writing too much leads to spoilers. I have enjoyed others of this author’s novels, but this one tended to drag for me. All of her books are long which adds to the anticipation of the finale. However, I think most people agree that you just cannot say “no” to a Laine Moriarity novel. Copy provided by the publisher via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.
Anonymous 3 months ago
This one really drags. I couldn't get into it.
Anonymous 11 months ago
Kept me strongly interested. Couldn't wait to see where this was going . Author 's descriptions of characters and emotions took me right there on scene with them. Kept
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Nice one! amazing.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This book is well written but is definitely a slower paced storyline than her previous works. Despite being slow there is wonderful character development and a range of subjects is explored in this novel.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Thought this would never end. There was no climax to the story.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Could not stop reading
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This is slower than slow moving. It doesn't move at all. The character's are pitiful. I am putting myself out of the misery of trying to finish this book and moving on to something more productive like cleaning the bathrooms.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I have LOVED all of Liane's books and couldn't wait to start this one. As soon as I started, I could not wait for it to end.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Too many depressed people .
SUEHAV More than 1 year ago
I've read all her books and loved them. This one was a waste of time.
Anonymous 19 days ago