“…our identities can be shaped as much by untold stories as by the stories we choose to share.” (385)
There were so many parts of this novel that resonated with me. Family. Food. Secrets. Lies. I always thought that if I were going to write a book it would be titled: “Lies My Grandmother Told Me.” But the untold stories that she never shared, might have been far more interesting and telling, than the lies she perpetuated. Choices we make. The stories we tell ourselves. The lens with which we view our past. Out of focus? Sharp? Blind? Those of us left, with the fallout from those lies, feel betrayed, lost, hurt, doubting who we are. Those we love and trust, their lives affecting ours via the lies they told. Were they trying to construct a better narrative…a happily-ever-after? How do the decisions we make, in good faith, affect our story, and future stories?
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