A Spool of Blue Thread by Anne Tyler

There’s nothing vainglorious in this, the Pulitzer Prize winner’s latest. It's a very American thing: there’s Abby and Red Whitshank, more middle class than their parents, almost inevitably called Junior and Linnie Mae. They’re also more comfortable with the trappings of affluence and, most importantly, home ownership. Their big porchy house, built by Junior, is as much a character as any of its occupants.

Surrounded by children and grandchildren, Abby and Red’s health deteriorates. Their progeny duly batten down the hatches amid the quiet storm of age. It’s still the matriarch who takes the fore though, in spite of an occasionally slipping mind. Indeed, Tyler's third person narrative in many ways echoes Abby's own voice – both are warm and yet they share a gentle snobbery. A daughter-in-law has her dog’s name inked on the crook of her arm. The Whitshanks, following Abby's example, pretend to like it.

A Spool of Blue Thread is a layered thing, and Tyler is certainly capable in the assembly. Generations accrete tidily, but still she manages to accommodate the muddle and muck of people and relationships. Sadly, there’s only a hint of Baltimore’s “wirey, elastic accent” in the prose, nor is there all that much in the way of emotional heft. It’s an American family tale, above all else, sincerely and carefully told.