The Giant's House

I know it annoys some people to talk about voice in fiction. It’s a workshop term, an MFA term—what does it mean? But sometimes I finish a book—in this case, The Giant’s House, by Elizabeth McCracken—and I feel as though a gentle voice has been telling me a story. This voice was quiet and a bit sad, resigned but not hopeless. This voice would go well with graham crackers and a mug of tea with milk. The voice told the story deliberately, unhurriedly, without flash or trickery. It is a love story, of sorts, but it is never mushy, never sappy. I recommend it without reservations to anyone who reads.