Pineapple Street by Jenny Jackson

A heart-warming story of a family that comes from old money, Pineapple Street follows the relationship of three Stockton siblings and their spouses. Told from the point of view of two sisters and their sister-in-law, the book delves into the issues arising from being born into wealth, as well as marrying into it. Although it took me a while to care about the characters and their stories, I grew to not only like the three women, but to feel for each of their particular predicaments.

Darley, the oldest sister, who has given up her inheritance rather than have her husband sign a prenup, is a stay-at-home mom. Georgina, the baby in the family, who has no idea how rich she is, struggles to find her purpose in life. Their middle class sister-in-law, Sasha, who lives with her husband in the family mansion on Pineapple Street, which she hates as it is filled with their relics, is treated like an outsider. When circumstances deliver a blow to these women, they must reassess their relationships with each other and their priorities in life. Chip and Tilda, the parents, are stuck in their traditional upper class roles, lives revolving around parties, tennis, and golf, while keeping up appearances. The two generations, parents and children, see the world and their place in it differently.

This character-driven tale is told through snapshots of events, both past and present, in the life of each main character. Jenny Jackson has provided the reader with a glimpse inside the domestic reality of the super rich. Not heavy on plot or action, the narrative describes both mundane and life-altering scenes in the world of the three female characters.

As necessary as it was to paint a picture of life in Brooklyn Heights and how the cream of society live, the description was somewhat excessive. What I most enjoyed were the scenes with dialogue and interaction between the siblings, their parents, and their partners. With humor, tragedy, and lots of drama, their problems interconnect and lead to a satisfying, if a bit abrupt, conclusion.