A few weeks ago, in a post dentist high, I bought a bagfull of books at the Booksmith. It's been a dreary spring and early summer and I was craving some beach reading, even if it's too rainy to go to the beach. The cover of Flower Children, by Maxine Swann, showed a 70s era photo of kids romping in a field of flowers. A small volume, it looked promising, and in fact, it was light and if not completely engaging, at least harmless.
The "children" in questions are the offspring of a pair of hippies, living in a ramshackle old country home. The book is comprised of related short stories taking place over the children's lives. The children go on ski and road trips with their father, divorced from their mother, and generally make life difficult for his girlfriends. They go to their grandma's and swim in the pool while the adults have cocktails. They ride ponies with the neighborhood boys and have their first kisses.
But this book lacked the magic the glowing cover seemed to offer. There was no hook and the characters lacked depth. In all, though, it wasn't terrible. If you were to find it on the bookshelf of your beach house on a rainy afternoon, it would suffice.
3/5 netflix stars.
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