Sometimes reading the back flap of a new novel is enough
to suck you in, and such was the case with June. Among other aspects, the summary promises
such themes as old Hollywood, creepy mansions, murder, family secrets, and
more. In fact, if I were to find any
fault within its pages, it would be with the ‘more’ category. It sometimes felt as if there was TOO much
going on. That said it was still an
enjoyable, if drawn out, read.
The title of the novel refers to two things – the month
in which the activity takes place (both in 1955 and 2015), and the name of one
of the main characters. June’s story
takes place during the former period, while her granddaughter, Cassie, is at
the center of the latter. Connecting the
two generations is the once-regal home known as Two Oaks. Cassie has returned to the family mansion,
inheriting its crumbly masses from her deceased Grandma June. While she’s holed up there, trying to hide
away from daily life, there’s a knock on the door, which brings in a whole new
set of characters.
Tate Montgomery, the current Hollywood ‘it’ girl, shows
up on the doorstep with her entourage, Hank and Nick, to inform Cassie that she
has somehow inherited the estate of Tate’s father, Jack Montgomery, a former
movie star himself. But, how is that even
possible? Where is the link? Had Grandma June been hiding a secret past? It takes the author nearly 400 pages to
explain everything to us. Therein lies
the problem.
There was too much of everything, and yet not enough of
anything. There were characters I could
have done without (Nick serves absolutely no purpose other than to throw a sex
scene in here and there), and characters who should have been developed more, and
given more credit (do you see the name Lindie anywhere on the dust jacket? Nope, neither did I. Yet, the story can’t
really be told without her).
While I enjoyed the writing style, and the back and forth
between the past and present, I still think there is such a thing as too much
drama, and in this case, the author is guilty as charged. Themes such as racism and homosexuality
deserve more than the random mention here and there that they were
granted. It’s as if Ms.
Beverly-Whittemore threw in every idea that popped into her head, when she may
have been better off keeping a few for her next book. Less can sometimes be
more.
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