I adored The Hours and respected A Home at the End of the World (beautifully written, but the story was so sad), so I was pleased to wander past Michael Cunningham's second novel, Flesh and Blood, in the library one day. It was originally published in 1995, which, if I recall correctly, was before dysfunctional family novels and memoirs were all over the place. Even today the plot still feels original -- the characters are too real to ever feel clichéd, which is impressive considering the size of the Stassos family. Regardless of the subject matter, Cunningham's characteristically exquisite writing makes this book well worth reading.
