This is a story of generational trauma triggered by a fictionalized account of a real life tragedy that happened to people close to the author. Fletcher family, wealthy Long Islanders whose patriarch Carl was abducted from his suburban driveway one random day as he left for work. No one knew he was missing until he didn’t come home later that day, causing his powerful mother Phyllis, his pregnant wife Ruth, and their two young sons to exhaust both themselves and all resources at their disposal until he was recovered. And Carl is rescued; found intact with nary any of the maiming and severed body parts his kidnappers threatened would happen. Emotionally, though, he was never the same. He spends the rest of his life in a sort of shell shock.
His kids grow up and react to the trauma in their own ways. Eldest son Nathan is so afraid of his own shadow that he compulsively buys any kind of insurance he can find. Middle child Bernard went running as far away as he could from his parents and their town’s idyllic surroundings, becoming a mediocre screenwriter in Hollywood and lives with his own kind of fear. Youngest Jenny, who was born after Carl’s kidnapping, is the smartest offspring and is therefore the one both least and most likely to fail spectacularly. All together this could add up to something great, but I struggled to find the deeper message, beyond that it is hard to hang on to a family legacy when someone yanks the rug out from under them midstream.
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