I’d say Wolitzer has written ‘a novel of ideas’ if said novel weren’t so engaging. (In my household, the phrase, “a novel of ideas,” is followed by an eye-roll. Such books are made for humorless people who don’t like television, candy, and/or dancing.) I read the book in four days, hushing anyone who tried to speak to me as I finished a paragraph or chapter, and laughing aloud at various cafes (yeah, I became that person).
"As I read its final lines, declarative and profound and true, I felt mournful. The book — this book! — was over. I closed the novel and wondered if I could write a book this big, this ballsy. I imagined Ms. Wolitzer behind an imposing mahogany desk, quill in hand. ‘Why not?’ she said to me, and smiled. Yes, why not?"
Sing It, Sister! On Meg Wolitzer’s The Interestings by Edan Lepucki
I know I would sound a bit like Ferran Adria, the chef of El Bulli, instructing diners exactly how to drink some fantastical duet of elixirs that perhaps rely on nitrous oxide and animal testicle passed through a sieve.