At first glance The Vacationers didn’t appeal – beach reads aren’t my kind of thing – but it’s published by Picador (one of my favourite imprints), Naomi at The Writes of Women tweeted approvingly about it and annethology also seemed keen so I quit prevaricating and started reading. It seems they were right: Emma Straub’s novel is a very smart piece of commercial fiction – entertaining, peopled with entirely believable characters and, best of all, written with a sharp wit and acute observation.
Jim and Franny are scrambling to finish their packing before racing off to the airport with their daughter Sylvia. They’re flying to Mallorca for a two-week holiday in the stone villa they’ve rented just far enough from the coast to lift them up above the hoi-polloi. It’s soon clear that they’re taking rather more baggage than the cases they’re packing – Jim has lost his job after an affair with an intern, Franny can hardly contain her fury and Sylvia is preoccupied by the Facebook photos of her drunkenly snogging her classmates. When they arrive at the villa they’re jet-lagged and fractious. Into this walks their son Bobby; Carmen, the girlfriend for whom Franny can barely mask her contempt; Charles, her dearest friend and his husband Lawrence. There’s a great deal of angst, someone stomps off never to be seen again, people misbehave, someone gets punched, hopes are met and dashed – much like real life really – all served up with a slyly wicked humour. No one leaves unchanged.
The joy of this book is largely in its characters. Jim is suitably hangdog but having difficulty in banishing thoughts of his intern; Fran is a seething cauldron of resentment but determined that everyone will enjoy themselves; Sylvia picks away at her Facebook shame while nurturing hopes of her gorgeous Spanish tutor; Bobby and Carmen obsessively exercise; Charles frets about whether he can overcome his child-rearing anxieties while Lawrence can hardly contain his excitement when an email arrives from the adoption agency. Straub’s deft portrayals are a delight and her wit sharp as a tack. It’s an indulgent pleasure – an intelligent piece of fiction with enough bite to lift it far above the usual slick beach read.