This is the fourth of Michael Cunningham's novels that I have read. It is probably the most traditional--following three generations of a family steadily through time. In fact each section is labeled with the year. It is an exploration of an American family in the second half of the 20th century--the move to the suburbs, the 2.6 kids, the generational disconnect, divorce, forming of non-traditional families.
I have rated the book four stars but it may be graduated to five. I really like the story and characters and if they are still inhabiting my thoughts in a few months, I will add the star.
Cunningham's imaginings of the inner life of children is haunting. His character, the drag queen Cassandra is delightful. He/she (and the characters use both designations)does seem to have a feel for the future and his/her ability to penetrate the family matriarch's fog is fun.

What an absolutely wonderful slice-of-life story.

After having already fallen in love with Cunningham's earlier story A Home at the End of the World through adaptation, and finally reading it last year, then loving it again all the more, this was a curious peek into how the writer's other work would compare:

Magnificently.

Confirming what was already apparent in the aforementioned book, too: Cunnigham's narration is remarkably lifelike and intimate with its undramatic telling. The narration lives authentically in a moment, without commenting on the story's events from outside with premeditated moralities or judgements or pasted on emotions, but instead, jumping between multiple fascinatingly reflective POVs, lets the characters themselves to think and react spontaneously, live with themselves and with each other which ever way they may.

All of which makes each of the separate story threads of the beautifully varied cast of individuals that much more compelling and touching. And in the process of knotting the characters together by their shared loves and losses, creating and up-keeping their family ties in both good and bad, the story keeps pulling the reader, too, more and more into the complicated relationships and simple realities of these people, so convincingly presented through their inner voices, with their human flaws and strengths on display.

Although very similar with their lifelikeness and reflectiveness (and bittersweetness), I found, that where "Home" was more focused on youthful search of self and separation, with the POV of parents' own self-doubts serving as a contrast to the offspring's story, here it felt the generations were truly equal; equally lost in the pace of their colliding lives and own individual experiences.

Yet, with all of these personalities, even at its most tumultuous, the story exists in a pleasantly calm manner. Not making a spectacle of itself.

Loved this. And though it can't quite beat A Home at the End of the World, I have to admit, that if there wasn't pre-existing, rooted sentimentality attached to the former, this would be a tough contestant.

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Reading updates.

DNF at 25%

While I really loved the initial premise of Flesh and Blood, I found that the book doesn't actually live up to it. That is not to say that this is a bad book. It isn't. However, when I compare it to other 'family sagas' it simply doesn't have anything new or interesting to offer.
In Flesh and Blood, we follow Constantine Stassos, his wife Mary and his three children. Zoe, the youngest child, hardly makes an appearance during the first hundred pages or so while the other characters act in a very unlikable manner: Mary and Susan are rather unfeeling 'cyphers', Billy is a bit of a clichè while Constantine is simply repulsive.
The writing itself could be a bit too whimsical for my liking. Cunningham exaggerated scenes of no great importance trying to inject profound meaning to rather superficial situations or conversations. This made the story feel rather 'forced' and somewhat awkward.
Given that I wasn't invested in the characters and the story was dragging, I didn't feel like finishing this.
As I have already written, I am not saying this is bad book, but, in my humble opinion, there are plenty of similar stories that are a lot better than this one.

I was kind of inconsistent while reading Flesh and Blood (4 weeks, weekends only), so the ups and downs the book has (or so I think) might have to do a lot with that. It's hard to make a book unputdownable for almost 600 pages, but all in all I loved it. I loved certain characters, I despised others (isn't that what the family sagas are all about?), I loved Constantine's beach house, I loved Cassandra's warm heart and Zoe's tangled hair. I loved Ben to pieces and the whole sailing/swimming episode broke my heart and left me sobbing.

The more I think about it, the more I believe Cunningham is my favourite author, yet people prefer to recognize the names when they ask you this (who's your favourite writer, that is), so I keep on saying I have no favourite author rather than having to explain myself afterwards.