Rippling with humor, warmth, and style, Lost Lambs is a new vision of the charms and pitfalls of family dysfunction.

The Flynn family is coming undone. Catherine and Bud’s open marriage has reached its breaking point as their daughters spiral in their own chaotic: Abigail, the eldest, is dating a man in his twenties nicknamed War Crime Wes; Louise, the middle child, maintains a secret correspondence with an online terrorist; the brilliant youngest, Harper, is being sent to wilderness reform camp due to her insistence that someone—or something—is monitoring the town’s citizens.

Casting a shadow across their lives, and their small coastal town, is Paul Alabaster, a billionaire shipping magnate. Rumors of corruption circulate, but no one dares dig too deep. No one except Harper, whose obsession with a mysterious shipping container sends the family hurtling into a criminal conspiracy—one that may just bring them closer together.

Irreverent and addictive, pinging between the voices of the Flynn family and those of the panorama of characters around them, Madeline Cash’s Lost Lambs is a debut novel of quick-witted observation and surprising tenderness. With Lost Lambs, Cash has crafted a family saga for the twenty-first century, all held together with crazy glue.

This is one of the most dysfunctional family stories I’ve read in years. The last time I felt this level of chaotic was probably Augusten Burroughs’ Running With Scissors, and even then, this book manages to feel very much its own thing. It’s dark, absurd, frequently hilarious, and unexpectedly poignant. I didn’t love every single choice the book made, but I absolutely loved spending time with this weird little family.

The Flynn family is, by any standard definition, a mess. Catherine and Bud are parents whose open marriage has reached a breaking point. Their daughters are all spiraling in very different directions. Abigail, the eldest, is dating a man in his twenties nicknamed War Crime Wes. Louise, the middle child, is secretly corresponding online with a terrorist. Harper, the youngest and arguably the sharpest of the bunch, is being sent to wilderness reform camp because she’s convinced that someone, or something, is monitoring the town’s citizens.

On paper, this all sounds unhinged. And it is. But what fascinated me most is how often the book made me stop and question whether this family was truly dysfunctional, or if they simply lived and communicated in a way that falls outside what we label as “normal.” I found myself reflecting on their dynamics more than I expected to. Their relationships are messy, yes, but they’re also deeply familiar in that way families often are. Everyone talks past each other. Everyone carries secrets. Everyone loves each other, even though they do so imperfectly.

The tone walks a careful line between dark comedy and emotional sincerity, and for the most part, Cash pulls it off beautifully. The writing is sharp and confident, with a voice that knows exactly when to lean into absurdity and when to pull back. I laughed out loud several times, not because the jokes were flashy, but because the observations were so painfully on point. There’s something refreshing about a book that isn’t afraid to be strange and funny while still taking its characters seriously.

One of the standout elements is the rotating perspectives. We move through the voices of the Flynn family and a wider cast of townspeople, which helps flesh out both the family and the quirky coastal town they inhabit. There’s a sense that something larger is lurking in the background, especially when billionaire shipping magnate Paul Alabaster enters the picture. Rumors of corruption surround him, and Harper’s fixation on a mysterious shipping container becomes the thread that pulls the family into something far more dangerous than their usual interpersonal chaos.

This is where my biggest hesitation comes in. The subplot involving Alabaster was, for me, a little off. I won’t spoil it, but when everything was revealed, it felt out of step with the rest of the story. I couldn’t tell if it was too dark, too extreme, or simply operating on a different wavelength than the rest of the book. It pulled me out of the narrative slightly and kept this from being a full-on love for me.

That said, it didn’t undo everything the book does well. I genuinely loved these characters, flaws and all. Each member of the Flynn family feels distinct and fully realized, even when they’re making baffling decisions. There’s a tenderness underneath the chaos that sneaks up on you, especially in the moments when the family is forced to confront external threats together rather than turning inward.

This is a debut that takes risks, some of which land better than others, but the voice is confident and memorable. If you enjoy dark family dramas, absurdist humor, and stories that make you question what dysfunction really looks like, this one is worth your time. I didn’t love every piece of it, but I absolutely loved spending time with the characters.

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