THE DUTCH HOUSE by Ann Patchett

Danny Conroy may be the first-person narrator of this book (I’m always little thrown off by male first-person narrators of books penned by female authors), but the house in the title carries more influence than many of the human characters.  Danny and his older sister Maeve grow up in this house, mostly without the presence of their do-gooder mother, who is appalled by the ostentatious structure that feels to her more like a museum than a home.  She abandons her children to help the poor in India, and her husband carelessly marries a pretty golddigger, who morphs into a wicked stepmother in no time.  This premise may not sound very original, but in the hands of a great writer like Patchett, it doesn’t have to be.  I will say that I had no difficulty putting the book down, until a revelation about halfway through the book grabbed my attention temporarily.  My excitement quickly fizzled, but no matter.  This is basically a sibling story where the older sister becomes the surrogate mother, and although I realize that’s not very original, either, Maeve and Danny’s relationship is the glue that holds this novel together.  One of my favorite passages in the book is Danny’s comparison of a hospital’s layout to a cancer that grows willy-nilly, as wings are bequeathed and added to the building in haphazard fashion.  How true.  I like a number of Patchett’s novels more (Taft, The Magician’s Assistant, State of Wonder, Bel Canto), but I still found this to be a satisfying and enjoyable read, though possibly not memorable.