Willis gracefully explores the world of foster care through the eyes of 48-year-old Alice Marlowe, an interpreter for the deaf living a lonely life in Cleveland. When Alice receives a late-night phone call from a six-year-old girl whose mother has disappeared, the last thing she expects to do is apply to become her foster parent, but one look at beautiful, dark-skinned Larissa Benton changes everything. Alice's maternal impulse surprises her—"How did this child and I become us?" she wonders—as she attends foster parenting classes and wonders if she can cope.

Willis allows for ambiguity in her moving story: when Michelle, Larissa's white, wayward mother, returns, she's neither a villain nor a victim; Alice, who converses with her dead twin brother, is not a saint. When Michelle moves into Alice's home to be closer to her daughter, the narrative reaches its height of tension; Willis shows both the safety and generosity of Alice's world and the unpredictable but loving home that Michelle would provide. A careful, tender story of the complex bonds of motherhood, this novel doesn't shy away from its problems, but still comes to rest on the side of its wonders.
Publishers Weekly

Sarah Willis is one of today's most gifted novelists. Now the award-winning author delivers a heartrending story about mothers and daughters doing their best to negotiate the distance between freedom and love.

Jennifer's mother, Rose, belongs in a home. At least that's what everyone else thinks. But Jennifer has walked away from her mother too many times already, and this is one duty she intends to fulfill herself. So she takes a leave of absence from her job and invites Rose to live with her and her family. Jennifer's teenage daughter and new husband can hardly tolerate Rose and her short temper, but Jennifer is desperate to know about the memories drifting in and out of her mother's reach, sometimes comforting her, sometimes tormenting her. Jennifer longs to use these memories to help rebuild her mother's life--to remind herself, and her mother, what went wrong, so she can ask for forgiveness--or is it the other way around?
New York Times

In Willis's second novel (after Some Things That Stay), theater director Will Bartlett has invited the actors in his resident theater company to his family's small upstate New York farm, before the opening of their summer production of Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men. It's 1971, resident companies are struggling financially and the theater is changing artistically under the influence of new ideas like Artaud's Theatre of Cruelty. In his late 50s, Will is not avant-garde enough for nude rehearsals, but he does want to try something new. So he asks his cast to "live" their characters while offstage as well as on.

The pressures created by this effort, together with the strains imposed by communal life in a small house and decrepit barn, exacerbate problems in the Bartlett family. Will's wife, Myra, a musical comedy actress who retired after a severe bout of stage fright that followed marriage and motherhood, is reexamining her life, while his daughter, Beth, is maneuvering to get her first role. The addition of the sexual and professional tensions that inevitably plague actors adds fuel to the fire. The present-tense narrative creates a sense of urgency, this is true to life, as are the portrayals of Will and the various members of his personal and professional families, especially the angry and confused 16-year old Beth.
Publishers Weekly

The deceptively quiet voice that inhabits this intelligent and moving first novel belongs to Tamara Anderson, 15 years old in 1954, who comes of age within an unconventional family that's struggling in an era of social conformity. Her father is a landscape painter, so the family (including Tamara's younger siblings, Robert, 11, and Megan, seven) moves every year, living in furnished houses from Georgia to Idaho to Maine, owning only what can fit in a trailer. Stuart and Liz, Tamara's parents, met when Liz modeled nude for art classes, with Stuart defying his family to marry the woman who had flirted with the Communist Party. Now they are determined to bring up their children as atheists, teaching them evolution and carefully explaining sexuality and reproduction.

The '50s era, with its shadow of Moral Rearmament, is vividly evoked with references to Davy Crockett hats, the generalized fear of a Communist conspiracy and the atom bomb, as Tamara's perceptions of her new home in upstate rural New York drive the narrative. She explores her new school, and religion and sexuality with the boy across the street, juxtaposing her need for stability against her family's transient life. When Liz becomes seriously ill with tuberculosis, the Anderson family is weighted with fear, sadness and uncertainty of a kind entirely new to them. Willis deftly balances her depiction of the domestic unit: vulnerable Tamara correctly believes no one is listening to her, and knows that in Stuart's life, art ranks above his children. Liz and Stuart are devoted to each other, and are alternately selfish and caring parents; their idiosyncrasies, such as overrationalized reckless styles of driving the family car, suggest larger problems. Not a seamless tale, the narrative is hampered by a few stale patches of exposition, but overall, Tamara's uncommonly lucid, honest and expansive view marks this as a luminous, impressive debut.
Publishers Weekly