One family. Four generations. A secret son. A devastating addiction. A Texas family is met with losses and surprises of inheritance, but they’re unable to shake the pull back toward each other in this big-hearted family saga perfect for readers of Mary Beth Keane and Claire Lombardo.

Ryan and Lillian Bright are deeply in love, recently married, and now parents to a baby girl, Georgette. But Lillian has a son she hasn’t told Ryan about, and Ryan has an alcohol addiction he hasn’t told Lillian about, so Georgette comes of age watching their marriage rise and fall.

When a shocking blow scatters their fragile trio, Georgette tries to distance herself from reminders of her parents. Years later, Lillian’s son comes searching for his birth family, so Georgette must return to her roots, unearth her family’s history, and decide whether she can open up to love for them—or herself—while there’s still time.

Told from three intimate points of view, The Bright Years is a tender, true-to-life novel that explores the impact of each generation in a family torn apart by tragedy but, over time, restored by the power of grace and love.

This book had one of those synopses that instantly had me thinking, “Yes, this is going to wreck me in the best possible way.” Family secrets, generational trauma, messy love, and emotional healing? Sign me up. And while I didn’t hate it – there were definitely parts I appreciated – it didn’t quite deliver the emotional gut punch I’d been hoping for.

I did really enjoy the structure of the book. Starting with Lillian’s POV and then moving into Georgette’s gave the story a strong foundation. Seeing how the events of the early days of Lillian and Ryan’s marriage and their distance later on shaped Jett’s worldview was powerful, and I wish the whole book had stayed within their perspectives. The shift to Ryan’s POV in the final section was where things fizzled for me. I wasn’t connected to him emotionally, so it felt like the story lost a bit of momentum right when it needed to peak. Maybe if I’d been more sympathetic to his struggles earlier on, that switch would have hit differently.

That said, I really loved most of the characters. They are richly drawn and full of nuance, which is always a win. I absolutely adored Lillian. She’s complex and flawed, and she’s trying her best while juggling secrets and heartbreak. Her love for her daughter, Georgette (or Jett, which is such a perfect nickname for her), is palpable throughout the story. Speaking of Jett – she was hands down my favorite character. She’s observant and resilient and carries the emotional weight of the story on her shoulders in a way that’s both heartbreaking and admirable. Watching her grow up in a broken home due to her father’s alcoholism and her mother’s buried past adds a majority of the emotional weight to the story. She sees everything, even when the adults think she’s too young to understand, and she carries it with her well into adulthood.

Elise, Ryan’s mother, was another standout for me. She’s this quietly powerful presence, full of warmth and compassion. There’s a gentleness about her but also an undeniable strength. Her love for her family is unwavering, and she’s the kind of character you can’t help but get attached to.

Then, there’s Ryan. I get that he’s supposed to be this complex, tortured soul – someone battling addiction and carrying his own burden – but I just didn’t like him. And more importantly, I didn’t feel for him. That made the final third of the book, which is told from his perspective, fall really flat for me. It’s hard to be emotionally invested in someone you’ve kind of been side-eyeing the whole time, you know? I honestly think this is why the book didn’t hit me all that hard; I spent the last several pages reading from the perspective of a character I didn’t like.

One of the story’s central arcs is the reappearance of the son Lillian gave up for adoption. This was another weak point for me. We should have felt a huge, emotional reckoning, but I felt that it landed a little too late in the book to have the full impact it deserved. I kept waiting for that part of the story to really crack things open emotionally – but instead, it kind of felt like a last-minute addition rather than a natural culmination. I wanted more buildup, more tension, more emotional fallout.

Overall, this is a novel with a lot to say about love, addiction, forgiveness, and the way family secrets shape us – whether we know about them or not. While it didn’t completely knock the wind out of me the way I expected, I appreciated the tender moments and the messy, real depictions of familial love. If you’re into character-driven stories with multiple perspectives and a touch of intergenerational drama, this one might just work for you.

Book Club/Book Box: