Keeping secrets in the family

Although born in Egypt, Penelope Lively has spent most of her life in England, where she became known in the 1970s, first for children's books and then for novels for adults, many of which have received important literary accolades.

"Moon Tiger," which won the 1987 Booker Prize, touched on a theme that continues to be central to her work: the ways in which our perceptions are shaped by our memories.

"Family Album," her 16th novel, is the story of a large, seemingly happy family and an exploration of how its members interpret critical moments of their youth to paint a far darker picture. The action -- if you can call it that, because the enchantment of Lively's novels lies in her exquisite rendering of details rather than her plots -- begins when TV reporter Gina Harper pulls into the driveway of the rambling Edwardian house that was her childhood home to introduce her boyfriend, Philip, to her family.

One of four girls and two boys who grew up in this seemingly idyllic setting, Gina and most of her siblings rarely visit anymore. Only 41-year-old Paul, the eldest son, an ex-drunk and ex-druggie, still lives there. Also in residence are Gina's mother and father and the au pair who has been with the family for decades.

Alison, the quintessential earth mother, is a gifted cook and homemaker, who "only ever wanted children, and what's wrong with that?" Her husband, Charles, a self-involved writer who's as absent from his children as his wife is present, is a man who devotes his energies to penning popular books about history and sociology. Ingrid, the au pair, is a Scandinavian from either Sweden or Denmark who has taken to growing vegetables now that the children are gone.

To outsiders like Philip, Gina and her siblings seem to have had a fairytale upbringing. But Gina and the others remember it differently. The festive eighth birthday party Alison arranged for Gina turned into a near-tragedy. There was something mysterious, even ominous, about the games the children played in the cellar. Gina's sister Sandra was viciously jealous of her. The au pair disappeared several times, only to return without explanation. The youngest girl, Clare, knew a secret everyone else knew, too -- so why did so many years pass before any of them discussed it?

Lively's skill is very much in evidence as she moves seamlessly from one point of view to another, and from the present to the past -- the children at 4, at 8, as teens, as adults. In lesser hands, this could be confusing. In Lively's, the shifts admirably serve their intended purpose of clarifying the characters and situations.

The reader begins to understand why the children of such an appealing, traditional family have not started families of their own; indeed, have chosen not to go home any more than they have to. When, at the end, some of them change their minds, the reader admires them for moving forward and making commitments in spite of what they remember.

The major weakness in the novel is its pacing. The secrets that unfold are not always as momentous as they've been built up to be or as surprising. Some of them are so obvious that the actual revelation feels anticlimactic. And most of the mysteries are explained early enough that the last third of the book feels a bit plodding.

That said, this is a story about perception rather than reality, so that if a character believes a thing to be earth-shaking, it's difficult to argue with that fictional truth.

This portrait of a certain kind of vanishing family life rings true. Who hasn't met an over-involved mother, a benevolent but distant father who endures a family that has somehow simply happened to him?

Is this as much a sociological study as the books the father writes? If so, readers with an appetite for very-British domestic drama are likely to find it an engaging one.

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