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GMA BOOK CLUB PICK • ONE OF PEOPLE MAGAZINE'S BEST BOOKS OF SUMMER • An outrageously funny debut novel about a woman who moves to a small beach town looking for peace, only to find herself in an all-out war with her neighbors. “Irreverent and unexpectedly tender, this story takes neighborhood feuding to new heights and finds beauty and reinvention in unlikely places." —Oprah Daily "Brings a tongue-in-cheek tone to the beach read genre."—TIME When Kathleen Deane’s husband, Tom, tells her he's no longer happy with his life and their marriage, Kathleen is confused. They live in Kansas. They’ve been married thirty years. Who said anything about being happy? But with Tom off finding himself, Kathleen starts to think about what she wants. And her thoughts lead her to a small beach community on the east coast, a town called Whitbey that has always looked lovely in the Christmas letters her childhood friend Josie sends every year. It turns out, though, that life in Whitbey is nothing like Josie’s letters. Kathleen’s new neighbor, Rosemary, is cantankerous, and the town’s supervisor won't return Kathleen’s emails, but worst of all is the Sugar Cube, the monstrosity masquerading as a holiday home that Kathleen’s absentee neighbors are building next door to her quaint (read: tiny) cottage. As Kathleen gets more and more involved in the fight against the Sugar Cube and town politics overall, she realizes that Whitbey may not be a fairytale, but it just might be exactly what she needed. Save What’s Left can best be described as the “un-beach read.” It pulls back the curtain on life in a beach town, revealing the true cost of a pretty view. Told from the candid and irreverent perspective of a newcomer turned local, this is a story of forgiveness, fortitude, and second chances.
GMA BOOK CLUB PICK • ONE OF PEOPLE MAGAZINE'S BEST BOOKS OF SUMMER • An outrageously funny debut novel about a woman who moves to a small beach town looking for peace, only to find herself in an all-out war with her neighbors. “Irreverent and unexpectedly tender, this story takes neighborhood feuding to new heights and finds beauty and reinvention in unlikely places." —Oprah Daily "Brings a tongue-in-cheek tone to the beach read genre."—TIME When Kathleen Deane’s husband, Tom, tells her he's no longer happy with his life and their marriage, Kathleen is confused. They live in Kansas. They’ve been married thirty years. Who said anything about being happy? But with Tom off finding himself, Kathleen starts to think about what she wants. And her thoughts lead her to a small beach community on the east coast, a town called Whitbey that has always looked lovely in the Christmas letters her childhood friend Josie sends every year. It turns out, though, that life in Whitbey is nothing like Josie’s letters. Kathleen’s new neighbor, Rosemary, is cantankerous, and the town’s supervisor won't return Kathleen’s emails, but worst of all is the Sugar Cube, the monstrosity masquerading as a holiday home that Kathleen’s absentee neighbors are building next door to her quaint (read: tiny) cottage. As Kathleen gets more and more involved in the fight against the Sugar Cube and town politics overall, she realizes that Whitbey may not be a fairytale, but it just might be exactly what she needed. Save What’s Left can best be described as the “un-beach read.” It pulls back the curtain on life in a beach town, revealing the true cost of a pretty view. Told from the candid and irreverent perspective of a newcomer turned local, this is a story of forgiveness, fortitude, and second chances.
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En raison de restrictions imposées par l'éditeur, la bibliothèque n'est pas en mesure d'acheter des exemplaires supplémentaires de ce titre et nous vous présentons toutes nos excuses si la liste d'attente est longue. N'oubliez pas de regarder s'il existe d'autres exemplaires, car d'autres éditions sont peut-être disponibles.
Extraits-
From the cover
1
Never buy a beach house. Don’t even dream about one. Don’t save your money or call real estate agents or pick out a white couch. If you must do something, pray for the people who do own beach houses. Pity them. Certainly don’t, under any circumstance, envy them.
Maybe it’s too late for you. Maybe you’ve gone ahead and picked up some starfish tchotchkes and turquoise nonsense and you feel you’re in too deep. Well, then let me tell you right now that those warm summer nights you’re dreaming about will be spent arguing over parking restrictions and beach access. You won’t paint or write or play tennis. You’ll be too busy filing code enforcement complaints in the town attorney’s office. You’ll wake up to the sound of leaf blowers and you’ll either spend half your life trying to protect a tree or cut one down. The village will be charming. The view will be beautiful. You’ll attend countless meetings about how to keep them that way. Do yourself a favor and put a lawyer on retainer. Don’t waste any time about that. You will, without question, not be on speaking terms with at least one of your neighbors in a year’s time.
And, if you’re like me, you’ll eventually end up in a courthouse conference room in some godforsaken town, nervously clutching a tattered, overflowing, cardboard Christmas box with a picture of a dopey snowman and the words, “Bring on the Snow!” The box will be filled with letters and emails and blueprints and surveys and photos that began as minor grievances but are now exhibits in a money-laundering scheme. And what you’ll think to yourself as you stare at that stupid snowman and search frantically for a tissue to wipe away the sweat which now routinely rockets from the top of your head is this: Why did I ever buy that house?
The worst part about all of this, I mean the really worst part—worse than the alleged wire fraud or the ruined view or the mounting therapy bills—is that now I am one of these people. I’m now the kind of horrible person who genuinely cares about what so-and-so had to say about the traffic from the chowder festival. I’m the kind of person who has an opinion about whether the beach sticker should be placed on the front or rear bumper of the car. I know more than one person named Bunny. I spend weekends reconstructing osprey nests. I carry around Freedom of Information forms in my purse. I fantasize about a tsunami sweeping away my neighbor’s house and floating it out to sea (preferably with them in it). I, honest to God, look forward to town board work sessions airing on Channel 36. I’m the kind of person who has the town supervisor’s cell phone number posted on my refrigerator and who has cried more than once in the town attorney’s office. I’m that kind of person. The worst kind of person. I’m a beach person.
Three years ago, I didn’t have a beach house. Three years ago, I was a normal person. I had a husband, a job, and a house with no view in Kansas City. Every Sunday, my husband and I would go to the same diner for breakfast. We’d order two omelets. We’d request the same waitress. We’d eat at the same table. We’d leave the same tip. We’d talk about work or we wouldn’t talk at all. Then, one day, we went to a different diner and Tom ordered pancakes and he left me.
I don’t know about you, but I’d like to think that if I were rotten enough to leave someone over pancakes after thirty years of marriage, I’d have the decency to have a...
Critiques-
April 24, 2023 Castellano turns the beach-read genre on its head in her clever debut. Fifty-nine-year-old Kathleen moves from Kansas to the little seaside town of Whitbey, N.Y., after her husband, Tom, makes the surprising announcement that he wants a divorce. Expecting a “bucolic paradise” and “small-town charm,” Kathleen buys a waterfront oyster shack and drives across country, but instead of beachfront bliss, she finds a two-room shed with a leaking roof and a rotting bulkhead, next door to a McMansion-in-progress, a monstrosity the locals call the Sugar Cube. Soon she finds herself engaged in an impassioned, one-sided correspondence with the town supervisor, detailing her grievances regarding the massive construction project. She also inadvertently takes a side in a local turf war regarding the development of a vacant waterfront property. And rather than meeting a handsome stranger as she’d hoped, Kathleen is instead surprised when Tom shows up, having bailed on a cruise around the world and purchased an Airstream, which he parks in Kathleen’s driveway. The plot, which culminates in some big, late-breaking twists, is a bit lopsided, but Kathleen’s character and worldview are impeccably drawn, thanks to Castellano’s idiosyncratic and assured voice. This witty send-up is a winner.
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