Fourth of July weekend and I wasn’t swimming, sunning, or drinking gin and tonic. The first draft of my new novel screamed to be done (and by Sunday it was) but even the best of intentions need a break for the arm muscles.

I needed a book juicy enough to suck me in, interesting enough to nourish, and with seamlessly transparent writing that could silence my infernal editing word-judge. All I wanted was to read, thank you very much.

In TOWN HOUSE by Tish Cohen I found my answer. Jack Madigan has all the ingredients of a character I love: a fatal flaw of distinction (agoraphobia,) an attention-grabbing back story (dead mega rock star father) and a what’s-gonna-happen (his crumbling Boston townhouse, the only legacy of rock-dad, is about to be foreclosed upon.)

There’s a stuck-in-the-seventies teenage son, a too-helpful ex-wife, a hapless chattering real estate agent, and a missing killer-turtle shell.

The most important ingredient in a book seems to me, to be a main character (or characters) you just need to stay with. It’s like the perfect best friend or the ideal husband, somehow everything about their life is interesting. That’s Jack Madigan. You like being with him for the entire ride.