{"product_id":"go-ask-fannie-isbn-9780735218611","title":"Go Ask Fannie","description":"\u003cb\u003e\"With all the feels of a \u003ci\u003eThis Is Us\u003c\/i\u003e episode, Hyde's latest novel will delight readers\"\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e(\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e).\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003eThree adult siblings. Three days with their father. What could go wrong? \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen Murray Blaire invites his three children to his New Hampshire farm for a few days, he makes it clear he expects things to be pleasant. But when Ruth and George arrive already bickering and Lizzie turns up late, cradling a damaged family cookbook and talking about possible criminal charges against her, all hope for a relaxing family weekend is gone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis is not the first time the Blaire family has been thrown into chaos. In fact, that cookbook, an old edition of Fannie Farmer, is the last remaining artifact from a time when they were a family of six, not four, with a father running for Congress and a mother building a private life of her own. The notes written in its pages, pages Lizzie risked her spotless record to save, provide tantalizing clues to their mother's ambitions and the mysterious choices she once made, choices that pulled the Blaire family apart, but could also bring them back together. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTold with equal measures of humor and tenderness, \u003ci\u003eGo Ask Fannie\u003c\/i\u003e is a warm and heartfelt tale of the power of family and the pains of growing up, proving that family survival isn't about setting aside old rivalries, but preserving the love that's written between the lines.\u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eGo Ask Fannie\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Writing in a style both affecting and realistic, Hyde gives readers a family that could mirror their own, including the characters, the conversations, and the treasured family keepsake. With all the feels of a \u003ci\u003eThis Is Us \u003c\/i\u003eepisode, Hyde’s latest novel will delight readers.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eBooklist\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Hyde’s insightful and engaging novel is highly recommended, especially for readers who enjoy family sagas by Sue Miller and Anne Tyler.”\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e—\u003c\/i\u003eBookPage\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It’s a must-read for anyone who loves a good family drama—especially those with siblings.”\u003ci\u003e—\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eHelloGiggles\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\"Hyde, whose best-known novel is \u003ci\u003eThe Abortionist's Daughter\u003c\/i\u003e, is here an accomplished, assured and painstaking archaeologist of a multilayered family history, of its secrets, vulnerabilities and regrets. A richly rewarding read.\"\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e—Sunday Times \u003c\/i\u003e(UK) \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"In this heartfelt story, family conflict and love intertwine.\"\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e—The Tennessean \u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Hyde always produces character-driven books that ooze authenticity.\"\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e—5280\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"The writing is superb and compelling... Excellent plotting and a story which just seems to happen without effort.”—\u003cb\u003eBookBag UK\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A book full of huge-hearted mistake makers that you’ll want to call your own—\u003ci\u003eGo Ask Fannie\u003c\/i\u003e is a rousing reminder that the only way to truly forgive another person is to first forgive yourself.”\u003ci\u003e—\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eCourtney Maum, author of \u003ci\u003eTouch \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eI Am Having So Much Fun Here Without You\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Wonderful characters, a gorgeous sense of time and place, and elegant storytelling make \u003ci\u003eGo Ask Fannie\u003c\/i\u003e an utter delight. The members of this loving, raging, totally compelling family may not like one another all the time, but I adored them all from the first page. Elisabeth Hyde has written a funny, joyous novel, heartbreaking and heartwarming all at once and in the very best ways.”\u003ci\u003e—\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eLaurie Frankel, author of \u003ci\u003eThis is How It Always Is\u003c\/i\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What does it mean to be a family?  What are the secrets we hide?  In this poignant, often funny, yet serious novel, Elisabeth Hyde mines the mysteries and paradoxes of our most intimate connections. How we hurt, disappoint, and lie to one another, and how despite it all we are inextricably joined.  In the end Elisabeth Hyde has served us up a recipe for love, one that the reader will feast on for a long time.”\u003ci\u003e—\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eMary Morris, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Jazz Palace\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eMore Praise for Elisabeth Hyde\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“Elisabeth Hyde is a remarkably lucid and authoritative novelist.”\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e—\u003c\/i\u003eJohn Irving\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[Hyde’s] prose is vigorous and natural, her perception subtle, her voice and those of her characters all-American.”\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e—New York Times Book Review\u003c\/i\u003e (Editors’ Choice)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Like Anne Tyler, Hyde captures the quirky, heartbreaking core of a character and puts it on the page with shining prose...in a novel full of originality and sparkle.”\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e—Publishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eElisabeth Hyde\u003c\/b\u003e is the author of five critically acclaimed novels, most recently \u003ci\u003eIn The Heart of the Canyon\u003c\/i\u003e, a \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e Editor's Choice and a \u003ci\u003ePeople \u003c\/i\u003emagazine Great Read.  Her fourth novel, \u003ci\u003eThe Abortionist's Daughter\u003c\/i\u003e, became a bestseller in Great Britain after being selected as a Summer Read by the \u003ci\u003eRichard \u0026amp; Judy Show\u003c\/i\u003e.  Trained as a lawyer, she worked for the U.S. Department of Justice in Washington, D.C., before she started writing full-time.  She lives in Boulder with her husband.1.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Squabblety-Budgets\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Come in, come in,\" Murray exclaimed, opening the kitchen door      wide. He glanced at his watch. \"You made excellent time! How was      the traffic? Ruth, is that all you brought?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Ruth propped her large floppy tote against her carry-on bag and      kissed her father hello. \"I always travel light, Dad, you know      that.\" She looked around. \"Where's Lizzie?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"She called and said she'll be down tomorrow morning,\" Murray      replied. \"Something about wanting to get some papers graded      tonight. George\"-and he clasped his son's arm-\"thanks for doing      airport duty.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Nice sweater, Dad,\" said Ruth. \"Is it new?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Murray glanced down, as though he'd forgotten what he was wearing.      \"This? No, just dug it out of the back of the closet. Mothballs      and all.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Well, you look good in red, Dad,\" said Ruth.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Murray beamed. It pleased him when Ruth took note of his grooming      efforts, not because he was out to impress her, but because he      knew Ruth had a tendency to keep tabs on how well he was taking      care of himself. This would give him a nice bold check in the      \"Keeps Up Appearances\" column.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I have dinner all ready,\" he told them. On the stove was a pot of      chili, along with a pan of cornbread made from a mix Ruth had      brought him from Santa Fe, probably years ago. He'd prepared a      salad as well-though that, too, had been easy, coming prewashed in      a bag so all he did was dump it in a bowl. \"We can eat any time.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Let me check in with Morgan first,\" said Ruth, taking out her      phone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"You already checked in with him,\" George said. \"Three times in      the car already.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I want him to know we arrived,\" Ruth said, and her index finger      skittered across the screen. Murray looked on, somewhat appalled:      What color was her nail polish, exactly? Blue-green? In a law      firm? It looked vampirish to Murray.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Ruth, having sent her text, placed her phone on the table. \"Okay,      now I'll take a glass of wine.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Wow, fancy stuff,\" George observed, as Murray got a bottle of      white wine from the refrigerator.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Is this the right one?\" Murray asked Ruth, showing her the      bottle.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Wait-you told him to get you that wine?\" George said.      \"Seriously?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Zip it, George,\" said Ruth.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e George took the bottle from Murray's hand before he could uncork      it. He eyed the label. \"How much did this cost?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I said drop it, George,\" Ruth warned.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Nothing wrong with splurging every once in a while,\" Murray said      lamely-wishing George would, in fact, drop the issue. The wine had      actually cost over twenty dollars at the state liquor store, far      more than what Murray might have spent on a bottle for himself,      but Ruth had been specific and he didn't want her to be      disappointed. He'd only bought one bottle, anyway. It wasn't like      he was going to keep her supplied all weekend long. \"Do you want      some, George?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"No, I'll just take a Bud,\" quipped George, emphasizing the      common-man's brand, which Murray thought was an unnecessary dig,      since George knew that Murray always kept a few craft beers in the      refrigerator for his son.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But if it was a dig, Ruth did not snap back, and they sat down to      Murray's dinner and for the rest of the evening they made light,      frivolous, for the most part happy conversation: George telling      them about his knee injury; Ruth filling them in on the soccer      camps the boys had attended this summer, and the awards they'd      received, and their week at the Delaware shore where Kyle forgot      sunscreen one day and ended up with a blistering sunburn that Ruth      still got choked up about, because now if he got skin cancer it      would be her fault. Murray, for his part, just sat and listened.      He wished Lizzie were here, too, but he had to admit, he was      grateful for all this harmony. Ruth and George seemed to be making      an effort.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e If only the whole weekend could be just like this, he thought. Any      ideas, Lillian? Would you scold, if things started heating up? Let      them duke it out themselves? Or would you escape to your room      upstairs and write about it?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e As it would turn out, the next morning would find Murray wondering      what toxic wind had blown in during the night, because when he      came downstairs around eight, he found Ruth and George arguing at      the breakfast table about who should inherit their grandfatherÕs      army parka. Over toast they argued about the percentage by which      Donald Trump was going to lose. (ÒEpic,Ó George predicted. Murray      himself wasnÕt so sure.) Over eggs, they fought about how to deal      with Lizzie, who was posting unflattering childhood pictures of      them all on Facebook.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e By nine o'clock they'd moved on to finances; as Murray was making      a second pot of coffee, Ruth was trying to convince George he      should be putting more money into his retirement account, and      George was getting prickly, Murray could tell, not just because he      probably wasn't putting enough aside, but because Ruth could be so      bossy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Squabblety-budgets, Lillian used to call them when they fought      like this. Yackety-yacks. Their voices sounded like the Sunday      morning news shows. Stop it! he wanted to shout. But then an idea      occurred to him, so simple he wondered why he hadn't thought of it      before: he reached up and removed his hearing aid and slipped it      into his pocket. And that was it; that was better. Without the      device, his children's voices receded and Murray felt happy. Let      them argue for the time being. Slowly the coffee began to burble      up in the old percolator and Murray felt happier still. He looked      out the window. It was a cloudless day, the blue peaks of the      Franconia Range deeply shadowed from the low morning sun. Down the      hill, just visible over the roof of his barn, lay a brilliant      swash of yellow. Murray had put in two acres of sunflowers three      years ago, almost as much an experiment in color as an      agricultural endeavor. The flowers grew chest-high, as big as      dinner plates, drooping heavily at this time of year from the      weight of their seeded centers. Standing in his field, under a      cerulean sky and surrounded by a sea of gold, Murray Blaire felt      like Van Gogh.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The coffee smelled good, rich, nutty. It occurred to him that he      might have given the army parka to the thrift shop.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I said Dad!\" Ruth exclaimed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Don't shout!\" Murray snapped. (Oh, he hated getting snappy!)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Ruth then said something that Murray couldn't quite make out. He      wondered if he could slip his hearing aid back in without her      noticing, now that she had zeroed in on him for something. Ruth      had a way of noticing all the woulds, coulds, and shoulds he did      or didn't do, many of which had to do with the safety of living      alone; she thought he should use his hearing aid all the time, for      instance, though what that had to do with safety, Murray couldn't      say.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Yet wasn't this tendency the reason he'd urged her to come up for      a long weekend, to be honest? Because she also noticed those      woulds and shoulds about everyone else, too, and she would notice      them about Lizzie. More specifically, what Lizzie could and should      be doing to get out of what Murray perceived to be a bad      relationship.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e For the past year and a half, Lizzie had been seeing an older man      named Gavin Langley, technically married but separated from his      wife. Originally from New York, he'd bought a place near Lizzie in      the hamlet of Sugar Hill, a nineteenth-century clapboard farmhouse      that he'd gutted and remodeled with local stone and timber. Murray      had visited the place once, when Gavin invited the locals to come      and admire his renovations; this was before Murray knew that any      kind of relationship existed with Lizzie, and he'd stood and      nibbled cheddar cheese, wondering how soon he could extricate      himself from the man's ostentatious attempts to garner admiration      under the guise of neighborly generosity. Eventually Murray      learned of his daughter's involvement with the man, but things had      reached a point this past month where Murray suspected all was not      well, for Lizzie's moods had grown increasingly dark lately.      Something was going on. And Murray, as her father, felt quite      helpless to investigate.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Dad, focus, please!\" implored Ruth.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Fine. Ignoring his daughter's watchful eye, Murray fitted his      hearing aid back in, poured himself some coffee, and went to sit      at the old drop-leaf table with Ruth and George. Ruth was wearing      baggy gray sweats, and she'd clipped her hair up in back so that      it fell over on itself, like a rooster tail. George wore a black      T-shirt that read \"ÀloN q M.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e rma\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e hy\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Now what's this all about?\" said Murray.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Will you please tell George why he should be saving more for      retirement?\" Ruth said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Nope,\" said Murray. \"George is forty-five. He knows about      compound interest.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Forty-four,\" George pointed out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Where's Lizzie with the coffee cake, anyway?\" said Murray. \"She      should be here by now.\" A shadow clouded his mind, as it always      did when one of his kids didn't arrive on time. Anything could      happen. Look at Lillian. Look at Daniel. Contrary to popular      belief, lightning could always strike twice.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Do you actually think you can live on Social Security?\" Ruth      asked George.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I have a pension, Ruth,\" said George. \"I am employed, you know.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Murray checked his watch. \"Darn that girl. Somebody call her.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Both his children simultaneously reached for their phones. Murray      got the feeling it was a race. Everything with his children was a      competition, it seemed. \"In the meantime, though, since I have you      here, I want to talk about the situation.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Which situation?\" asked Ruth.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Dad doesn't like Gavin,\" George told her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Oh, that one. I don't like Gavin either,\" said Ruth. \"He's what,      twenty-seven years older than she is, to begin with.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Murray rubbed his chin. He'd forgotten to shave that morning, he      just realized. No doubt Ruth had noticed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"My fear is that he's leading your sister on,\" he said.      \"Cultivating expectations. He's not serious about her, that much I      can sense, and I'm afraid she's going to end up hurt.\" Murray was      old-fashioned when it came to sex; he viewed women as more      vulnerable than men, more likely to think that love was involved      and apt to fall apart when things ended. He didn't know the exact      terms of the relationship in question here, but he did know Gavin      was still married, at least on paper. And he thought Ruth, as an      older sister, could help empower Lizzie to extricate herself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I want you to talk to her, Ruth.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Not me?\" asked George, hurt.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I already talked to her once this summer,\" said Ruth. \"She didn't      want to listen.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Well, she definitely doesn't want to listen to her old man,\"      Murray said. \"You're her sister. You're a woman.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"She's actually closer to me,\" George pointed out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Fine, you talk to her,\" said Ruth.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Stop it, the two of you,\" said Murray, convinced his children      could find discord in a glass of milk. \"This is my house. I hate      it when you fight. Your mother would hate it, too. So stop it.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Speaking of which,\" began Ruth.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Uh-oh,\" said George, and Murray grunted. Speaking of which, they      both knew, meant that Ruth was going to change the subject.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I noticed a little mold in the bathroom, Dad. Behind the sink      pedestal. Have you had the house tested for black mold?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I don't have black mold,\" said Murray. \"I have blue mold.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"You still have to take care of it. Get Sandra to wipe down the      walls with some vinegar. Also there's a huge wasp nest under the      eaves.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I'll take it down.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"No. You'll hire a professional. You're allergic to bees, Dad.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I am?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Dad!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Then I'll spray it after dark.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Why won't you just hire someone?\" Ruth said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Is this why you came up here?\" George asked her. \"To tell him      what to do about all the things that are wrong with his house?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Of course not. But at some point we're going to need to talk      about a whole different living situation for Dad, and this is just      the start.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I keep a very clean house,\" said Murray. \"I throw out my      newspapers. I take out my garbage. Do I have mice in the walls?      Yes. Squirrels in the attic? Maybe a few. So what? A little blue      mold isn't going to kill me.\" He nodded at Ruth's cell phone.      \"Have you heard back from her?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Ruth shook her head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Murray sighed. Despite the coffee, he suddenly felt drowsy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I'm going to go lie down,\" he said. \"Wake me when she gets here.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He left the room and shuffled toward the stairs, trying to      remember his last bee sting. \"You see?\" he heard Ruth say. \"How      tired he gets? And it's only quarter past nine.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In the relative quiet of his room, Murray lay down on his bed,      which he hadnÕt yet made this morning: something else Ruth would      notice. A few leaves on the maple tree outside his window had      turned red, which reminded him that fall was upon him, which      reminded him that winter was not far along, which made him sad.      Winters had gotten so long at this point in his life.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Well, they were long because he couldn't ski anymore because of      back problems, he reminded himself. He no longer snowshoed because      of balance issues. All he could do was sit inside and read when      the north wind blew. If he went for a walk, he risked slipping. If      he drove, he might skid. Sometimes he felt like a hermit, living      alone and talking to himself just to exercise his vocal cords.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e What Murray really wanted this year was to go to Mexico for the      winter. To find a small fishing village untainted by tourists, a      place where he could rent a little stucco house and learn the      language and eat the local food and shop at the local market. He'd      heard that the town of Zihuatanejo on the Pacific was such a      place, but when he Googled it, he saw restaurants and beaches and      pleasure boats, and concluded that it would be too touristy for      him. It would take some research to find the right place, but that      was half the fun. He would leave in January, and return after mud      season, in late April, so he could be there for the purple      trilliums and the lady slippers, the turning over of the soil in      his sunflower field, the things that made life worth living here      in northern New England.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Murray kicked at his sheets so he wasn't lying on wrinkles and      lumps. He settled himself and folded his hands over his diaphragm      and felt his breath begin to steady. He really was worried about      Lizzie. He couldn't say for sure that Gavin was responsible for      this, but Lizzie had been acting differently lately. Jumpy and      skittish, prone to talk about leaving her job and going off to      live in India or Nepal for a year. She'd never spoken of those      countries before and Murray took this to mean that they were      places Gavin had tossed around. Oh, Lizzie, he's just playing with      you, can't you see that? Dump the guy, before he dumps you.","brand":"G.P. Putnam's Sons","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301729947877,"sku":"NP9780735218611","price":22.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780735218611.jpg?v=1767728208","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/go-ask-fannie-isbn-9780735218611","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}