A VOCABULARY BOOK REVIEW OF The Unraveling of Julia

The Unraveling of Julia by Lisa Scottoline tells the tale of a young widow who inherits a Tuscan villa and vineyard, plus a load of money. And a lot goes wrong in Scottoline’s psychological thriller style for Julia Pritzker. The mysterious inheritance forces her to face the world again after her husband is murdered in a mugging. Julia struggles with the idea of not knowing why she was named in the will. She does her own investigating and tries to find a possible link to her biological family as well. But once she gets to the villa, a lot of weird stuff happens, and she begins to question her sanity and even worry for her life.
The Unraveling of Julia is full of rich detail of the Tuscan hills where most of the story takes place.
In this blog I offer a different type of book review—one that’s combined with vocabulary building or sometimes just a fun look at words.
From Scottoline’s thriller, I chose a phrase when that pulled me out of the story just because I have always misunderstood it and likely have never seen it spelled out before. I thought the phrase was “on tenderhooks” and didn’t know where it came from, but got the meaning, sort of. I had to look it up when I saw “on tenterhooks” in The Unraveling of Julia. And then I had to laugh at myself.
From The Unraveling of Julia:
“Julia felt on tenterhooks about whether they’d succeed, and her worries about Gianluca gnawed at the back of her mind all day, too.”
“On tenterhooks” is a phrase that, per Merriam-Webster online, refers to “waiting nervously for something to happen.” The word tenter means “a frame used for drying and stretching cloth” and is related to tent, so being “on tenterhooks” compares the tenseness of the stretched fabric to the tension of nervous waiting.
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“The word is only a representation of the meaning; even at its best, writing almost always falls short of full meaning. Given that, why in God’s name would you want to make things worse by choosing a word which is only cousin to the one you really wanted to use?” ― Stephen King, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft.




re of it in our society, and in turn, ourselves. Lippman’s skill at pulling multiple tentacles of a story together thrives in this tale, but she eloquently succeeds at something unique even for her. The story is told from the perspective of one character, but some of it comes to us in the first-person account of a remembered childhood, while the rest is told in third-person present tense as all those story tentacles come together for Lu Brant, a newly elected state’s attorney. The combination of first and third person from the same protagonist is so competently handled that I didn’t catch it until well into the book. It seems to bring a more intimate view into the life unfolding in Wilde Lake. The unique characterization provides a deeper grasp of what is happening in Lu Brant’s life as she digs into her own family history while sorting out the facts of her first capital murder case in her new position. The layers of revelations and connections to Brant’s past keep the pages turning. From the book jacket: “If there is such a thing as the whole truth, Lu realizes—possibly too late—that she would be better off not knowing what it is.”





