Marie Arana's Cellophane
OK, seriously, where did I read a good review of this? Because I really need to stop visiting whatever site keeps recommending such terrible books. I mean, this isn't TERRIBLE, exactly. I think Arana was going for a magical realism Garcia Marquez sort of thing, as the members of a wealthy paper-milling family in Peru suddenly find themslves unable to hide their secrets anymore, but ended up with a Laura Esquivel Like Water for Chocolate everyone-falling-in-love-at-the-drop-of-a-hat thing.
The adjective that best describes this book: FLORID.
Actually, I can totally see this book being fairly popular, and I can understand why there was a long wait for it at the library. It's just really not my thing. The floridity, you know.