The Calamity Club
Prodigious ... Rollicking and wrenching ... This is a 638-page book whose action takes place over just a couple of months, and with very little exposition to speak of. So it is remarkable that, with the conspicuous exception of about 100 sagging, repetitive pages toward the middle...it flies ... This is not a so-called novel of ideas, or at least not of new ones. It is not the least bit experimental or formally inventive. It’s all about plot, baby, and that plot, for the most part, delivers ... And all this action is carried relentlessly forward on the surf of Stockett’s full-hearted, down-to-earth prose, her dialogue and inner monologues so well crafted that each sentence gives the impression of being not crafted at all, but inevitable ... Stockett’s portraits of good and evil, of rich and poor, of women with class and those who can’t afford it, can be uncomplicated to the point of cartoonish, but the point here isn’t so much moral complexity as it is pure, hell-raising entertainment.
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Stockett again satirizes the hypocrisy underpinning much of the early-twentieth-century South in a saga populated with memorable characters who rely on stock-in-trade pluck and sass to right all wrongs.
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A long, winding narrative that keeps piling on more dramatic developments until all loose ends are neatly, if hastily, wrapped up in the final pages. Stockett might be making a point about Southern women facing facts and standing up for themselves, but mostly this is just a satisfyingly twisty tale that should make a great miniseries. Fans of Stockett’s bestselling debut will love this engaging follow-up.
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