If you did not read Lucky You by Erika Carter, nor did you select it as part of your Book of the Month Club box, of which it was selected in January 2017, then lucky you.
I've managed to read about three Book of the Month Club picks over the years, mainly due to finding them at second-hand book stores, and they have all been very strange; like the Book Pickers are trying to prove to the world their maudlin intellect. Well Carter's debut novel, Lucky You, is not only a waste of a BOTM selection, but a waste of paper and a waste of time.
Rachel, Ellie, and Chloe are frenemies, each stuck in their own cycles of self-destruction; you know the drill: sex, bad relationships, too much booze. Then Rachel up and moves deep into the Ozark mountains with a man who is sure that he can change the world by learning, and writing about, and thus teaching, how to live off-grid and on the land. Ellie and Chloe are eventually convinced to join the couple at their remote house and work on The Project. What is an otherwise interesting and intriguing concept, not only fell short but will live forever in my mind as one of the worst books I've ever read. Not only do these insipid characters with a proclivity for claiming Chinese proverbs as their own, not "solve the conundrum of being alive," they struggle with getting their would-be cult off the ground in favor of depressive loafing.
The writing is slow and dispiriting, and grey and frigid, despite writing scenes that supposedly take place in intense heat. "She had to pee. Then she flushed," is the sort of riveting storyline that you can expect from this droll, much more lame, non-serial-killer, version of Emma Cline's The Girls. Lucky You is one big bad mood that is so nicely summed up by one paragraph: "they traded turns talking in stream of conscious monologues. After a while, they weren't even listening to each other, it was more about just filling the air with the comfortable lilts and turns of story." Lucky You is like reading Carter's disoriented, rough-draft of her own personal journal. There is no real point, prompting me to wonder, Why am I reading this book? Many books of this similar genre are bound to be far better, can I even give this one star?
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