This book is solidly of the genre of literary fiction books that are too well-written to be categorized as chick lit, yet still recount the stories of several dissimilar, quirky, late-blooming, thrown-together-by-chance girlfriends throughout their life trajectories from college to middle age.
As often happens in such books, the story is told from the alternating points of view of the three friends, as well as from the perspectives of various key family members or other associates with whom these women's lives intersect.
And, as also often happens in such books, the story is not told chronologically, but rather cuts rapidly back and forth to different spots on the timeline until at the very end, the story has been completely revealed and all missing pieces have fallen into place. This book lies at the further end of the "screw chronology" spectrum in that it almost reads as though the author cut up the entire manuscript, scrambled it on the floor, and scooped it back up again: it really skips around, and my guess is that this may annoy some readers. It did not bother me, but I was distracted trying to think of how the author kept track of everything, and what to reveal when: did she have a giant spreadsheet, or a wall mural like Faulkner??
I wish I had more to say about this book. It was perfectly competent. The dialogue is fizzy and engaging. The characters were...hm. Let's say they were fine to spend some time with, for the most part. They sort of fall into the three buckets of: The Pretty One, The Messed-Up One, and The Weird/Unconventional, Benevolent Slacker One. That list reflects the progressive degree to which the characters were fleshed out and interesting, with the Pretty One on the Least end and the Weird One on the Most end. Kind of predictable, I guess.
In general, I looked forward to returning to this book, and for the most part, never eyeballed my giant pile of library books and asked myself why I wasn't reading one of those instead. Yet, as I approached the end, I realized there was no There there, and for me the book did not climax in some Big Idea other than that we all collectively muck through our intersecting lives as best we can and that sometimes we Eff things up but sometimes things turn out OK.
It probably sounds like I'm damning this book with faint praise. It's better than I'm making it sound. But I won't be reflecting upon it any further after this. And you know, that's OK. I'm OK, and you're OK - that seems like an ending to this review that is befitting to the worldview reflected in this book.